


What Difference Would It Make?

by orphan_account



Series: What Difference Would It Make? [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Career Change, Developing Friendships, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Violence, Post-Hogwarts, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 96,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Harry is disenchanted with his career in the Ministry but can't bring himself to resign, and Draco is nothing more than a recluse following the trials that saw his Father incarcerated.The pair never thought they'd cross paths again, but it soon becomes clear that not all of Voldemort's followers are gone - and they're definitely not happy Draco left the war unscathed.Harry and Draco are forced together for their own safety, unwilling to admit how much time has changed them and most definitely unwilling to admit that they're starting to warm up to each other.Because, really, what difference would it make?~-*-~ Excerpt ~-*-~Draco stood there for the longest time, his thoughts a muddled mess of a thousand different ideas, face flushing and stomach fluttering. As silence settled over the house again, he finally turned to look up the stairs, rubbing his cheek absently and biting back a shocked laugh.Draco couldn’t help but wonder if he'd been flung into some alternate universe, where things like Harry kissing him on the cheek was a normal occurrence.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: What Difference Would It Make? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2018410
Comments: 87
Kudos: 508





	1. A Gut Feeling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought of this chapter in the comments! Your kudos and replies are greatly appreciated.
> 
> Enjoy and stay safe!

No more than a handful of years ago, if someone would have so much as suggested to Harry Potter that he would end up loathing his work as an Auror - he might have laughed.

When Hermione had tentatively mentioned to him that he should consider returning to Hogwarts to complete their examinations, to perhaps rethink his career choice, to at the very _least_ figure out what the rest of his options might be - he’d responded, rather shortly, that he had been completely sure that becoming an Auror was exactly what he had wanted to do.

At the time, perhaps that was true.

It had always been clear to Harry, far before Voldemort's final downfall, that the war would not completely end then and there. There were countless witches and wizards to apprehend, justice to be carried out, lives to be honoured - and he had let himself be swept away in that adrenaline rush just as many others had. The dust had barely settled before a handful of them had been offered training to become an Auror, to try and finish what had been started, and to finally find some closure in their lives.

But now? A handful of years down the line?

Harry felt that he had been terribly wrong to follow the path he had.

He woke that brisk Autumn morning like he did many others - hours before he really needed to be awake, the sun barely cracking through a darkened sky. The room was cold regardless of the weather being mild that year, and despite the homely furnishings of his small flat, something felt incredibly empty about the place.

His exhaustion ran through him in nauseating waves, but he knew no more sleep would come. The minute his eyes opened his head began to run through a thousand scenarios of how the coming week might come to pass...who he might meet, what tasks would end up piled sky-high on his desk, what questions would he have to answer to - questions he so naively thought would cease after the war's conclusion.

It felt like nothing had really changed, not even after a handful of years.

The peace he had craved more than anything had never come around. The grief of those lost still felt like an open wound because it was something that would never really end. He’d chosen, willingly or not, to become stagnant, to revert back to his old ways like one puts on a comfortable, if tatty, pair of shoes.

Work was spent being constantly reminded of how politics within the Ministry would never change in his lifetime, how much cruelty still lay beneath an already secretive, hidden world. It was no surprise to many who knew him that he’d gradually, corrosively, lost the energy trying to fix it all. It no longer felt productive or worthwhile. He’d lost the will to fight, running through the motions but never really feeling the heart behind it anymore.

Very often, after one too many drinks or late nights spent in the quiet company of Ron and Hermione, he’d reluctantly admit that perhaps Hermione had been right all along. No _real_ surprise, but it still stung knowing that someone else had realised the trouble becoming an Auror might cause Harry down the line, something he’d been completely oblivious to at first.

She would smile, sadly, _I told you_ so flickering across her mind but never passing her lips, and she would remind him that he wasn’t forced to stay in that position, he could very easily up and leave and find something else. Perhaps something that made him want to wake up on a morning rather than hide beneath the covers and pretend he didn’t exist.

Harry never really had the guts to explain why he felt he had to stay because it felt like the choice had been made _for_ him - that it was expected of him. Hadn’t it always seemed so natural that he’d continue to do as he’d always done, fighting for what was right, protecting those around him, wanting to make sure no one had to suffer like he and his friends had done in what should have been the best years of their lives? Never mind the fact that his triumph had been nothing more or less than stumbling in the dark, phantom hands pushing him this way and that, his friends succeeding where he had failed.

The sad fact was, even if Harry _had_ been given a choice back then, he probably wouldn’t have changed a thing he’d done. And he just could not admit it to anyone - not completely.

It had never really been a choice.

It was _natural_ \- even if it had begun to feel like the worst decision he’d made to date. That was as close as he could ever explain it to Hermione when she questioned time and time again about his choice to stay. He’d joked many a time, trying to discourage the awkward conversation, that maybe Malfoy had been right with all those years of taunting, maybe he did have a little bit of a saviour complex that he couldn’t shake off.

He could almost imagine that taunting voice, _of_ ** _course_** _perfect Potter would become an **Auror**._ That was all he could whittle it down to. Harry was cursed to care too much about others whether it was damaging him or not, and until the time came where he was content with the choice he'd made, he would wave the questioning away and mutter that he was stressed - _just_ stressed - and it would pass.

After a painful hour spent lying awake that Monday morning, Harry managed to drag himself out of his flat quick enough to not be late for the first time in a fortnight. He’d gotten ready haphazardly, skipping breakfast, not taking so much as a quick glance at his reflection before heading out. The sight was beginning to worry him these days...he was only just hitting his mid-twenties, but something about him looked aged and worn.

Although he’d filled out a substantial amount during his training towards becoming an Auror, no longer quite so skinny and sickly, his face was beginning to betray him. Dark circles cradled each eye, the colour in them no longer striking but tired and dull. His hair was as wild as it had ever been, grown out just enough so that long dark tufts could strategically hide that mark - something that even now seemed to get him into more bother than it was worth.

The Autumn air was both soothing and refreshing across his features, and Harry found himself pulling his black coat a little tighter while he chose to walk most of the way to the Ministry, eager to evade to his desk before he became trapped within the chaos of the place.

The building was still full of life and energy and chaos, never a quiet building to reside in - even after hours as of late. Memos fluttered by Harry’s head, his gaze never wavering but cast solely on the path in front of him, those emerald tiles shining back at him. Joyful greetings filled his ears and he forced a warm smile, mumbling pleasantries as he went because as sour as his mood was becoming, he could never quite let himself show it.

Soon enough, he rushed towards an open lift, cramped and warm, a bead of sweat beginning to form on his brow that he couldn’t reach. His arms were clamped by his sides, hemmed in by a circle of tightly knit bodies before he was all but spat out of the elevator and onto his floor. A soothing silence formed as the lift doors closed, the department only just waking up it seemed. Only when he rounded the corner towards his shared office and caught sight of Ron’s broad smile did his features break out into any semblance of a genuine grin. The unorganised, smothered state of his desk faded it quickly, however. It looked something close to an avalanche...though Harry could have sworn he'd cleared it down Friday night.

“Morning, mate. How was your weekend?” Ron asked, though his attention seemed more focused on the bacon sandwich in his hands.

“Same old, you?”

“Wasn’t too bad. Me and ‘mione spent the afternoon down at the Burrow. Mum’s been asking about you, by the way,” He took an impressive bite, voice pausing as he swallowed it down. “Well, everyone’s been asking about you really. Mum just tends to be the loudest...sounding like a broken record lately.”

Ron’s tone wasn’t even remotely geared towards pulling guilt from Harry, but he felt a lightning strike of it anyway. It had been weeks since he’d visited the Burrow, his moods so back and forth he didn’t quite dare risk seeing them in case he snapped unintentionally. The last thing he needed on top of the stress from work was to upset the closest thing he had to a family. Even his meetups with Hermione and Ron had suffered somewhat, no longer as often, Harry cancelling more and more as his ever-growing need for escape worsened. After some time, and admittedly from a lot of pressing from Hermione, Harry had admitted he just wasn’t in the best spirits because of work, half-heartedly explaining it away as a little too much on his plate.

So far, it had worked well at warding away a potential intervention from the pair. How long it would still last would depend on, most likely, how riled up Hermione let herself become in the coming weeks.

“Have they?” Harry mumbled. “Well...I hope they’re alright, anyway. I’ll tag along to see everyone the next time you visit if that’s alright?”

“Actually Harry, no, it’s not alright. I’d much rather you avoid seeing my family for the foreseeable future,” Ron drawled sarcastically, his grin robbing his words of any hostility that might have been there.

Harry couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, smacking Ron with the handful of papers he’d been busy rifling through, his desk near enough smothered in parchment. He shrugged his coat off and let it rest on the back of his chair, absently pushing the white sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows. And then his smirk faded, features dropping into a concerned glare at one of the letters, more of a note really, folded neatly and marked in red ink: _URGENT._

Ron noted the change in Harry’s expression, standing up to peek at the top of the papers in his hand, manners never really on his radar regardless of the company. He let out a short hiss that under other circumstances should have been amusing but did nothing but frustrate Harry.

“Yeah, forgot about that.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Might have.”

“It’s on _my_ desk.”

“And it caught _my_ eye. Can’t expect me not to have a nosey when I see a letter plastered with _urgent_ on the top. Can’t be that much of a secret, anyway, not a charm or jinx in sight,” Ron replied, equal parts defensive and amused. Harry’s curiosity, as it stood, was the only thing stopping him from getting properly annoyed.

“Go on then, what have I done this time?” Harry sighed, slowly reading through the note himself. The realisation dropped and hit his stomach like a cold lump of ice before Ron could even get close to explaining.

“Nothing, really. Looks like our dear old friend Malfoy is in a spot of bother, though. Reckon Kingsley’s gunna try and poach you for the investigation to boot. Had to be pretty bad, though, hardly ever gets involved with the department directly these days, always too busy those higher-ups…”

Ron carried on muttering to himself about how people always got too high and mighty when they moved up in their careers, despite actually being quite fond of Kingsley. Had it been another time, Harry might have been quick to remind Ron just how high and mighty _he’d_ gotten when they’d found themselves in training as young as they did, but the note had his full attention.

_Harry,_

_I trust you’re quite busy, but could you visit me as soon as you’re physically able. I have a matter I could use your assistance with regarding a disturbance at Malfoy Manor. Robards has been made aware that I may need to borrow you, so long as you’re willing. I will explain the details to you as and when._

_P.S., I’d appreciate your discretion as much as your present company would allow._

_Kingsley._

Harry scoffed at the final line despite himself, though the noise was decidedly hollow. What a miracle _that_ would be. He glanced over to Ron who was sat back in his chair, picking away idly at the paperwork scattered across the bomb site he called a desk. Harry noticed his smug look, something many might not ever notice but a look Harry found himself spotting in an instant. If there were ever an office gossip within the Ministry it would, surprisingly, be Ron. He knew more than he was letting on and judging by that look, he'd have no problem in divulging it to anyone that'd listen - within reason.

“Right then, what’s happened?” Harry sighed.

“Don’t know what you mean.”

“ _Ron,_ ” Harry snapped, his voice coming out far too clipped even to his own ears. Ron’s amused look faltered, if only slightly.

“Bloody hell, what side of the bed did you wake up on? I might have heard a few _things_ …but I swear to Merlin if you mention it to Kingsley-”

“-and _I_ swear to Merlin if you mention _this _to _anyone…_ ” Harry waved the note in front of Ron’s face, who shrugged.

“Checkmate. Well, the word’s been going about the Manor got targeted recently, I guess. Weird thing is, not a lot happened, we just know the wards got tampered with.”

“Tampered with?”

“Yeah,” Ron said slowly, his eyebrows creasing as his thoughts began to churn away. “Kind of like they were testing the waters, I guess. Thought it was just a hoax or something at first but, well, with what’s been happening...doesn’t look too great, does it?

Harry let out a long, deep breath, the stress of the past few months peaking and rushing to catch up with him. It had been no real surprise to anyone that even after the war there’d been a decidedly consistent trickle of Death Eaters coming out of the woodwork. Between random attacks on civilians and weak attempts at revenge on those who had tried to incarcerate them, there had still been an unsettling degree of work to do in the Auror department regarding their appearance.

The latter, it seemed, was becoming a more solid mantra between those who had been left behind. _Revenge_. As though it wasn’t enough that several used-to-be Death Eaters were being ostracized and even attacked by the general public. People like the Malfoys, not that many would care about their welfare to begin with, or even get a chance to see much of them these days. They’d all but fallen off the face of the earth - something that had managed to surprise Harry.

It all started out as something of a nuisance, but the problem really hit home when the attacks in recent months started to get...well, _bigger_. Bigger groups, bigger targets, but more worryingly - better tactics. It was like they were a solid group again, not just cast-offs scattered across the country – some had even been overseas.

Those early days of impulsive attacks were becoming something like organised chaos. More challenging duels, more worrying victims. A couple of witches and wizards had been nearly fatally injured over the course of the past year. Frighteningly, word from the Muggle Prime Minister suggested that a handful of their kind may have even ‘passed’ under suspicious circumstances.

They were becoming far more cunning, but Harry felt the Ministry itself was doing its best to gloss over the entire thing. And in some ways, Harry did understand. They didn’t want a panic. And yet it brought a very bitter, very familiar taste to his mouth all the same...even if he felt a little hesitant to get involved.

As it stood, for all Harry's praise and recognition, he was beginning to work on a ‘bare minimum’ sort of policy.

But what seemed worse of all to Harry was that they were still pretty much clueless as to who _exactly_ was behind it all, even more clueless as to where they could begin to trace them. Trails ran cold almost instantly, and yet they continued to grow bolder. No one had heard much from Narcissa or Draco after Lucius’ sentence, but that didn’t mean their name had completely lost its weight.

As much as it seemed like they were trying to disappear from the world entirely, that Manor still stood and their name was still whispered about between witches during their weekly trips to Diagon Alley, would still be shouted and raved about in the Leaky Cauldron over a few too many drinks. Would still cause an uproar if something _was_ to happen or seem even remotely suspicious. Perhaps not entirely for the right reasons…and certainly not sympathetic in nature.

“Penny for your thoughts, or are you about to fall back to sleep?” Ron asked suddenly, making Harry jump.

“Both, I reckon, but I better go see Kingsley. I’m on thin ice as it is,” Harry muttered, smoothing his sleeves down again and straightening his tie.

“Don’t think it’s possible for the likes of you to be on thin ice, to be fair.”

“You’d be surprised,” Harry mumbled, remembering the warnings that were beginning to stack up behind his record, even after such a relatively short time working as an Auror. Small little complaints that Kingsley had, so far, kindly decided to gloss over, something Harry wasn’t sure whether he was grateful for or hated.

Harry let out a breath and gave his farewells to Ron, telling him he’d see him later on in the day if Kingsley decided to spare him. As it turned out, Harry barely saw him at all for the rest of their shift and would see him even less over the coming week. He trudged over to Kingsley’s office, so deep in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear many of the greetings coming his way, couldn’t concentrate enough to smile in response to some of the beaming faces passing him by. And really, he didn’t quite feel like returning to gesture, anyway.

Despite his own worries and despite fast falling into despondency over his own predicament, he felt something else was terribly amiss. Something about the knowledge he’d gathered regarding the residual nightmare of Voldemort’s followers was beginning to cry out at him - like a warning. If he thought hard enough, he could still feel that phantom prickling sensation across his forehead. Harry could shrug it off and ignore it, pretend that he didn't know what was coming.

But, really, his gut instinct had very rarely been wrong.

Something was coming.


	2. Kingsley’s Request

It didn't matter _when_ Harry was called to Kingsley's office, it didn't matter what the urgency, the time of year, global events, or _any_ of those factors - the place was usually utterly rammed. It made him wonder quite often whether the Minister didn't have some little time-turner hidden away in order for all those meetings, complaints and catch-ups to be worked through accordingly, because aside from the place being consistently busy – Harry had never once heard anyone complain about not getting to see the Minister at all.

It was either a time turner, or Kingsley had somehow managed to clone himself.

Which was why Harry could only imagine that luck, for all its inner workings, must have been swaying heavily on his side that morning - because it was as blissfully empty as he could have hoped. He gave the secretary a quiet but pleasant greeting, a woman whose name always evaded him but who’s squeaky voice and frail features he could never quite forget.

As overbearing as her voice could become when she was gossiping or fussing over everyone waiting to see the Minister, she was honestly lovely and always had a warm smile and motherly gaze waiting for Harry. Perhaps it wasn't a time-turner or a clone. Perhaps it was just this pleasant old witch managing to charm anyone and everyone who walked past so they kept their grievances to themselves.

“Mornin’, Harry dear. Just sit down, I’ll let Kingsley know you’re here in a minute. Would you like a-” 

Harry didn’t even get time to walk towards a row of decidedly mismatched seats or to even let himself be offered a drink, before Kingsley appeared at the entrance to his office, smiling broadly and holding the heavy oak door open for Harry expectantly. 

“Thanks for coming so quickly, Harry. Alice, if you wouldn’t mind, could you try and postpone any visitors I get until I’m finished up here?” Kingsley asked.

“Of course, Minister,” Alice all but sang, her twinkling eyes filled with the mirth of a young witch trapped in a frail old woman’s body. She practically radiated warmth, and it wasn't even a touch too overbearing.

“You’re a gem,” Kingsley replied, not waiting to see Alice’s age-lined face flush, but he heard her amused, tittering laughter all the same. She wished them both well and told them to call her if they needed anything. Harry thanked her.

The door to Kingsley’s office drew closed with an echoing click, and Harry became quickly aware of how quiet the room beyond it was. He could only really hear Kingsley’s footsteps echoing across to his respective side of the desk. Among that, only the sound of some distant mechanical whirring filled his ears - close to the noise of a clock but not nearly as soothing.

He searched around the room for the source, a room which Kingsley had evidently tried to make as welcoming and comfortable as possible, if not a little loud and mismatched. Great, high backed chairs coated in purple velvet surrounded a large oak desk, the walls filled sky high with shelves and cabinets, all of which laden to the point of great strain under books and countless golden knickknacks that Harry couldn't even hope to name.

Despite it all, Harry couldn’t help but focus on how he simply couldn't hear a thing from outside, and that was all that was needed for him to be set on edge, already wound up trying to wrack his head about what was to come with this meeting. Harry couldn't deny that he liked the Minister, as did many of the others that had been collared by him to join the Auror department so early, but he still often found himself intimidated by the man in such quiet spaces.

His eyes, at times like this, seemed to see straight through him rather than offer their usual reassuring gaze. It was like seeing Dumbledore again, that gentle yet penetrating look, as though all Kingsley had to do was snap his fingers and Harry would reel off whatever the man needed to hear. It probably didn’t help he’d had more than a couple of thinly-veiled warnings within these walls, all in the tone of concern or mild disappointment, but a warning no less. 

“So, I think it’s best if I ask you a question first, Harry.” Kingsley began.

“Sir?” 

“What have you heard so far?” Kingsley chuckled, and Harry briefly remembered Ron’s warning. 

“Not too much I suppose,” Harry said, slowly. “It’s been floating around that there's been a few more attacks from some old Voldemort fanatics. Nothing new really. I'm just guessing they've decided to target the Malfoys this time?” 

“I'm surprised you don't know more, Ronald has a rather acute sense of hearing, doesn’t he?” Kingsley said slyly but amiably, eyeing Harry with a knowing gaze whilst he fixed them both a drink.

His wrist flicked lazily, urging a cup of tea to hover over to Harry who took it gratefully, warming his fingers and subconsciously running them over a prominent chip across the handle. Harry didn’t quite manage to stop a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth at the Minister's words, though it wasn't exactly uncommon for people to comment on how nosey Ron had become since joining the Ministry. Never in a bad way, never really malicious, it was just Ron being Ron - enjoying being a solid part of the action.

“I’m afraid I’m saying nothing, Sir,” Harry said, cheekily. “Was the little bit I _did_ hear right?” 

Kingsley pressed his lips together, sighing and leaning back into his seat, contemplating. His words were slow, thoughtful, as though Harry was merely there for him to bounce his thoughts on and nothing more. “To be brutally honest with you, Harry, saying there’s been a few more attacks is putting it somewhat mildly. I’d wager you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg - even from _your_ department. That, or you’re trying to be polite and make it seem like I’m doing a far better job than I am.” 

Harry felt himself flush and opened his mouth repeatedly to deny it, but Kinsgley simply laughed and waved a hand through the air, trying to push the conversation along. Not for the first time that morning, Harry felt another stab of guilt, as though Kingsley had somehow felt Harry’s discontent with the Ministry ebb off him in waves like Harry was creating some kind of depressing draught that people could feel. He didn’t have time to consider his conflicting feelings over the whole ordeal as Kingsley brought him back to the present, clearly not too wounded over any doubt that was running circles in Harry's head.

“To put it simply, I’ve had quite a few members of senior staff investigating the trouble so far, but yes, the attacks _are_ increasing. Our concern is heavily focused on how organised you could say this is becoming...how it’s growing. We were hoping at this stage that the recurrence of Voldemort’s followers would be a terrible fluke at best. It’s become quite clear to me that the Malfoys have had a pretty big target on their back for some time now, but we very naively assumed the worst was over. Stranger still, though, it's only now that there's signs of them becoming actively sought after...there were some disturbances across the wards protecting their home a few days ago.” 

“They tried to attack the Manor?” Harry asked.

“Not quite…but I do think they are planning to. They were checking for weaknesses. Quite a lot of old magic protecting that place, but even ancient, powerful magic can fade away and weaken. Their investigation might not have been as subtle as planned, but regardless, I am greatly concerned that something bad will come from this. The wards have been strengthened and repaired, but we know all too well that nothing is ever really kept safe with just a handful of spells.” 

“So, they finally want to get their own back,” Harry mumbled under his breath, his brain beginning to kick into gear, cogs churning. He could imagine the rust flaking off of them, not used to feeling so interested in a potential case. It had been a long time. “You really think they’re going to attack Malfoy Manor?” 

“If they didn’t, I’d be exceptionally surprised. Out of all the trials from the war, I think you’ll agree that the hand the Malfoys had in it was possibly the biggest. And I hate to say it, Harry, you had a lot of sway with that case...I really am hard put to find a bigger target those pack of fanatics would love to take revenge on right now.” 

Harry slumped back into his chair, his hands feeling cold despite the fact they were clasped around a piping hot cup of tea. It was beginning to sink in why Kingsley had asked for him in particular, and he was beginning to feel small tendrils of anxiety creep up at the mere idea of getting involved with the Malfoys again. He shouldn't be surprised, not really.

In reality, there shouldn't be a single person working within the Ministry that would be surprised to hear the Malfoys were being sought after. The Minister was right, out of all the families to seek revenge on - they were top of the list. But with how quickly Draco and his mother had disappeared into the lifeless Manor they called a home, rejecting any kind of consolation or help, it had been all too easy to forget about them...to assume they'd be fine.

But, predictable or not, the prospect of what was to come left a horrible feeling within Harry's stomach. He hadn’t left the family on disastrous terms, but there was no real good favour to be gained from having to testify the innocence of a young man he’d grown to hate throughout Hogwarts. There was no real pleasantries to be had watching someone’s Father desperately try to prove his own innocence, and though Harry felt no remorse over watching Lucius inevitably be sentenced, the look on Narcissa and Draco’s face had been something he’d been hard put to forget.

They had suffered a terrible blow, surrounded by countless others who would have happily seen them follow the same fate as Lucius had. 

Then Harry remembered, so clearly and suddenly, catching Draco’s eye as he left the courtroom with his mother, leaving his Father behind, and there had been so much in that one gaze it had left Harry feeling all kinds of _wrong_. There was no real thanks behind those storm-glazed eyes, no real anger, just a stark look of loss and confusion…like Draco didn’t even understand who he was anymore, couldn't remotely comprehend what was about to become of his life. For a minute, Harry honest to God thought a dementor had sucked the life right out of Draco.

It was only his own deeply rooted loathing for the man that had stopped him from dwelling on that event to obsession, but it still skittered in and out of his thoughts on quiet nights. 

To Harry, it was a loose end he felt like he’d never be able to tie up, so he'd done his best to just forget about it completely - as everyone else had done. Well, unless the pretence was broken in order to sneer and shout and hex them, on the rare occasions they'd leave that cold mansion. Harry had heard from Ron that more than a few times the department had sent out a couple of Aurors to stop them from being completely mobbed. After some time, and some distance, the mob mentality had lost its novelty, but it didn't take away from the fact that Draco and Narcissa would be hard put to find anyone to trust these days, never mind for them to have anyone around who cared about what happened to them.

“I can understand your hesitance to help me with this, Harry,” Kingsley said gently, breaking the silence that had overcome the room. Harry set his cup back on the desk and rubbed his eyes, trying to ground his thoughts and pull himself out of his own head - he'd hardly realised how stock still and unresponsive he'd become because of that brief memory.

“It’s not that, Sir. I just didn’t exactly leave the Malfoys on the best of terms, I don’t know if it’s going to be ideal for me to get involved in this. There’s plenty of others who-” 

Kingsley raised his hand slowly, and Harry trailed off, slightly annoyed but hoping it didn’t show – like he would be so lucky. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I’ve had a good few sleepless nights to sit on this. I wouldn’t be asking for this favour if I didn’t think it appropriate. Leaving the Malfoys on bad terms at this point seems to be better than me sending a stranger to deal with them. They’ve grown exceptionally wary of the Ministry, exceptionally wary of _anyone,_ as a matter of fact. You should have seen the fuss when I sent Ackerly down to repair the wards and question them. I'd go so far as to say they're completely paranoid.” 

“And _I’m_ sorry as well, King-” Harry’s voice immediately wilted under the heavy gaze of the other man. Not angry, not threatening, just a simple gaze that urged him to rethink his tone. Harry could feel his irritation and anxiety churning through his stomach, his face heating and his thoughts tumbling out of his mouth before he could stop them. But he corrected himself at the last moment, genuinely not wanting to upset the other man. “ _Sir_ , I just...I really think it might be better to get a fresh face to deal with this. Me and the Malfoys have never exactly seen eye-to-eye, regardless of what happened at the trial.” 

“Trust me, Harry, I’m more than aware of that. But the fact is you helped them at probably one of the lowest points in their lives - they should be grateful of me sending you rather than any old Auror I can get my hands on. I simply cannot risk reaching the point where they won’t cooperate with the Ministry at all, and we seem to be on thin ice with them already.” 

“But they don’t _function_ like that, Minister,” Harry pleaded, feeling desperate. He knew he was beginning to sound like a child throwing a tantrum, but he could feel everything within him building up. He wanted to distance himself from his work as much as he could manage, not get tangled up into a case that would bring all the memories he wanted to bury right back up to the surface. “The Malfoys won’t be thankful you sent me...if anything it would rile them up even more. Christ, I could get Lucius out of Azkaban myself and they’d be no more thankful!” 

Harry watched as Kingsley’s features changed from mild irritation to concern, and he could feel those eyes searching his face. Subconsciously, Harry tried to calm himself, to hide away emotions he so regularly let himself get carried away with. Something sad and pitiful squirmed sickeningly in Harry’s stomach as he realised the Minister's entire focus has shifted from the case at hand to _him_. Annoyingly, a bitter part of his thoughts also whispered that Kingsley was only concerned because Harry was no longer living up to that noble image of an Auror so many had conjured for him. 

“Harry...I don’t understand why you’re fighting me on this so much. I’m acutely aware of the troubles you’ve run into with Draco and his parents, that there’s been a lot of bad blood between you, truly I am. But it is in the past. Things can and _do_ change, as much as we convince ourselves otherwise.” 

Harry tried to hold back a spiteful laugh at that, managing to trap it into a small scoff instead. No one could convince Harry of that - absolutely no one. So far his life had consisted of pushing his own needs aside to benefit others, forced to get tangled into misery that no one should have to suffer through, spending countless days reliving a war that many considered over and done with.

All he had in return was a sickening, contradicting guilt that he shouldn't be so selfish to think for a moment it was hurting him, a constant back and forth of wanting _better_. All the while feeling like others deserved a good life more than he deserved a chance to have one at all. And it was that deep-set guilt that made Harry relax in his chair, running a hand through his already messy hair, avoiding the older man's gaze at all costs lest he crumble under the weight of it and confess what was really the matter. 

“I’m just worried it might be the wrong choice, Minister. I’ll help, whatever it is, but...I’m just a little sceptical, that’s all. They can be a...tough family to deal with.” 

The Minister nodded, though there seemed to be no satisfaction in his face at winning Harry over. There was an awful silence while he seemed to weigh up his choices, doubted himself for a second, before proceeding on with what he'd called Harry in for to begin with.

“I won’t force you on this case, Harry. I won’t. But I _would_ appreciate your help.” 

Harry finally nodded, able to meet Kingsley’s gaze once more, silently urging him to continue. 

“Very well. Like I mentioned in my note, I’ve let Robards know you may have to be excused from outstanding cases for a short time. For all we know, if everything goes well today and luck is on our side, you could be out of their hair within a week. But...” 

“You’re not entirely convinced, are you?” Harry interjected.

“Unfortunately, Harry, no. I’m not. Our initial plan is for you to simply go and talk to Draco and his Mother, and convince them to move out of the Manor-” 

“- _Kingsley_ ,” Harry groaned, exasperated.

The Minister let the use of his name slide, simply because he knew the idea was ridiculous himself, and deep down he'd never really cared for the formalities that followed being the Minister for Magic to begin with, despite rarely correcting anyone. 

“I know it seems very unlikely, but there is a safe house ready and waiting if they’re agreeable. But I need you to try your best, Harry. We can’t force them out of their home, not when it stands that we can’t even identify who exactly tampered with the wards on their estate. Trust me when I say I have tried and _tried_ to find a way around it, to be able to push them if necessary.”

“You’re really that concerned? You think there’s going to be an attack soon?” Harry said, voice quiet.

“I’m that concerned, Harry, that at this moment in time I have an Auror monitoring the estate as we speak until you relieve him of his duty. I haven’t even dared to leave the place without a soul on standby. I am convinced that this is no longer a case of if, it is a case of _when_ the Malfoys will come under fire and I do not want to have to see that happen, as I'm sure you don't either.” 

“What if they refuse? What if I can’t convince them to move out?” Harry asked, subconsciously trying to pick apart Kingsley's idea, hoping and praying it would fall through and some other course of action could be taken.

“It’s highly probable, unfortunately. As such, I have another plan in place that I’d like you to follow through with if negotiation isn’t an option. If Draco and Narcissa refuse, if you absolutely _cannot_ convince them it’s for their own good, I need you to stay stationed at the Manor with another co-worker to ensure their safety.” 

“We can station Aurors without their permission, but we can’t actually move them out without their permission?” Harry questioned again, and the Minister smirked in response, though the action was somewhat rueful. 

"Let us just say this is as far as I dare push my luck. We can’t manhandle them out of their home, but it _would_ be a happy coincidence if a couple of Aurors just so happened to be around at the time of an attack, would it not?”

Harry let a ghost of a smile tug at his lips. Above anything, and despite his pessimism, _this_ was what Harry appreciated the most about Kingsley’s way of dealing with the Ministry. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them, and with Kingsley’s heart – most of these risky little dismissals of policy never turned sour. Mostly.

“Fair enough,” Harry sighed. “So, what about this co-worker-”

“I’ve already established someone willing for the job, I’m not too sure if you’re well-acquainted with Mr. Ackerly?”

Harry paused, furrowing his brow and wracking his brain before he put two-and-two together. “Thomas, isn’t it? He’s quite new.”

“Fairly. I would have liked to have paired you with someone in a more senior position, but I can’t pull too many of you away from the department, not that I don't want to. He’s more than capable, however. If you see any sign of trouble, you send a messenger spell and request backup immediately so we can try and apprehend even _one_ of those involved. As far as I'm concerned, I don't even care at this point if we have false alarms if you just have a hunch. But your main priority is keeping the Malfoys safe, are we clear on that?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Kingsley nodded, standing from his desk and looking up at the clock to the left of his office. Harry distantly realised _that_ was where the awful whirring noise was coming from, definitely not as soothing as the clocks he was acquainted with, the racket it made was _awful_ , golden arms whizzing around like a sugar-sick toddler. He could make no sense of it.

“I think you better head out. I’ve informed them someone will be arriving to discuss the tampering of the wards in more detail this morning, Thomas can brief you about it all when you arrive. I think I briefly mentioned, but he helped conduct the investigation the night it happened, and I've already got him stationed over at the Manor. Besides, I feel like I’ve drained you enough today.” Kingsley chuckled. “Speak with them and see if you can work some _real_ magic. If that fails, we can arrange a pair of trainees to relieve you from duty for the rest of the day, so you can rest up and monitor the place overnight. I suspect that’s when we’re most likely to see our old friends unless they’re feeling particularly bold.” 

Harry didn’t say much more, confirming details and promising he would report back briefly after his discussion with the Malfoys, and bring them along with him to the Ministry if they accepted his help. He tried not to seem short, tried to at least look at peace with the case and not quite as angry as he’d felt moments prior, but he suspected Kingsley knew more than what he was letting show.

He kept thinking about what Kingsley had said: _Things can and **do** change, as much as we convince ourselves otherwise._

As Harry prepared to apparate a short distance away from the Manor itself, hoping the walk would do him some good, he couldn’t help but think again how naive the Minister was.


	3. Uneasy Reunions

Harry stood, quiet and pensive, staring up at the Manor as though pleading with it. 

The place had never seen such a state of disrepair. Those long hedges, though still insufferably suffocating, were now dry and brown in patches, the floor lined with lifeless leaves that had failed to cling on to the gnarled branches. Harry recalled, somewhat distantly, that something was missing.

As he scanned the grounds, he realised that those majestic peacocks, strutting across the lawns and boldly, _arrogantly_ screaming _‘wealth’_ , were nowhere to be seen. It left only the bleak sound of rustling leaves skittering across the ground, the rest of the place as quiet as though it had been abandoned and by the state of the windows and crumbling brickwork that even Harry could see from afar, in a manner of speaking – it had. 

Harry realised he could, by all means, walk up there without meeting Thomas at all. He could most likely skirt his way past details and ensure he got to the point as quickly as possible. But deep down he knew he needed all the arsenal he could get. He could just imagine sitting down, Narcissa’s sad but piercing eyes glued to him, demanding how he expected her to trust his judgement when he couldn’t even recall the smallest details about the attack, wasn’t even _there_ to boot. He could imagine Draco standing up from his seat indignantly, telling him that they didn’t need _Perfect Potter’s_ help, that they’d been doing just _fine_ , that things only got worse when he tried to get involved in _their_ business. 

No, Harry knew he couldn’t risk it, even if that conversation never played out. So, he stood at the farthest end of the Manor’s grounds, glancing around, wondering where on earth this Thomas was, wondering how annoyed Kingsley would be if he decided to return to the Ministry, stating he couldn’t exactly reason with the Malfoys if he didn’t have the proper information because the Auror Kingsley had assigned thought it’d be a great idea to disappear into thin air- 

“Mornin’! Sorry, I’m late,” 

A deep, rich voice greeted Harry’s ears and he spun around, watching as a lean wizard in dark brown robes approached him. He had a large smile plastered to his face, and Harry idly noticed that a tooth in that warm smile was chipped. His hair was dark brown, windswept, but still quite neat, though the latter was somewhat compromised by the stubble growing out across a square jaw.

He had one of those faces that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on, but it radiated some strong, comforting feeling. It reminded him so greatly of the soothing aura Remus used to have, that for a moment Harry’s voice was lost and his throat tightened. As Thomas grew closer and Harry could look into his face more clearly, the feeling very suddenly faded away. Harry didn’t give himself time to dwell on it and put it down to nerves.

“Morning. Thomas, isn’t it?” 

“Aye. Got caught up in my rounds, didn’t mean to be so late. You’re Harry, of course.” 

He held out a hand and Harry took it, the grip strong. 

“Suppose I best talk your ear off for a bit then before we head inside if that’s alright? Not too much to tell, really, sure you’ve heard most of it. Ministry couldn’t keep a proper secret if it tried, sometimes.” 

Harry’s lips quirked into a smile and he nodded. “I don’t think you’re wrong. But honestly, all I really know is some wards got tampered with.” 

“Did indeed...just can’t figure out exactly how they’ve done it, like. This place is locked up tighter than a drum. Standard security spells were down, but there’s a lot of old, _old_ magic I can’t do a thing about. Probably some higher up’s looking into it, but that’s all lost on me. I’ve put up what I can in the meantime. What I can’t really figure out is how they managed to have a good prod around, damage a few of the wards but only managed to set off the Caterwauling Charm last minute? That’s the only reason the Malfoys ever knew. Damn thing started screaming bloody murder, but by the time they’d woke up and let us know, couldn’t find a peep. Just weak spots.” 

“They know the place. Probably just picked apart what they could and then slipped up and bailed.” 

“Guess so. Would have thought some extra wards would have been put up about the place after the trial and that to begin with, though. Got in too close, too _easy_ for my liking. We’re lucky they didn’t just decide to rush in and be done with it.” 

Harry thought on it for a moment and found that he felt exceptionally uneasy about the entire situation. Thomas was right. For all their sneaking around and their past of hiding in the shadows, often Voldemort’s followers had been more than happy to work on their instincts and fleeting desires than creep around to the letter, even if they ended up dead for it. Harry would have thought that would be more common now that their Master wasn’t around.

Why _didn’t_ they rush in that night? Why did they leave the spells in tatters and not take the opportunity, rather than wait for the Ministry to discover what they’d done? Not only would the wards be repaired as much as they could, but they also had to know the Ministry’s eye would be looming ever closer on the Malfoys after a stunt like that. 

Or did they want the Ministry to know, somehow? 

“Does seem a little odd,” Harry mumbled, staring back up at the Manor as though it would whisper some answers down to him. “Either way, we best get talking to them and figure out what we can do. You can wait around for me if you’d like, they can be a little-” 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll come in. I had quite the pleasant time with them trying to fix up all the wards.” 

“Really?” 

Thomas smiled, gingerly. “Not quite, but all the same, I’ll join you.” 

Harry nodded, silently hoping Thomas would take the hint and wait outside somewhere so he could deal with the Malfoys alone. Something about the man’s disposition didn’t seem to be one that would settle well with Draco or Narcissa, but then again, when had his own ever been better? Perhaps Kingsley's persuasion had worked on him. Perhaps he realised that with all that had transpired, the last the Malfoys wanted was a huge kick up and unfamiliar faces wandering around their home. They wanted to stay as far away from the limelight as they could manage, scrambling to hold onto their pride. 

“Right, then...if you’re sure?” 

“Sure as ever.” 

Harry gave a single nod, and the pair made their way down the pathway, the hedges seeming to move in ever closer to trap them in. The gravel under Harry’s feet seemed impossibly loud, and it took a while for him to realise Thomas was humming beside him. He found the noise grating but kept his mouth shut. After a moment, the Manor now clearly in sight and not just some looming phantom in the distance, they came up to a wrought iron fence. Harry could have sworn he saw the iron bars contort and twist into a sneer for but a moment before it stilled and settled. 

“That got busted as well,” Thomas spoke up. 

“What?” Harry responded, his body jumping, having almost forgotten the other Auror was there. 

“The gate – got a nifty little charm on it. Turns into a- 

“-face. I know. You’re right, though, doesn’t look to be working,” Harry approached the gate, attempting to grasp onto one of the iron curls and instead felt his fingers slip through as though it was nothing but smoke. He frowned, but didn’t hesitate and let his body follow, making his way past the gate as though it was nothing more than fog. It left a cold feeling within his stomach, seeing how easily he could just waltz on it. 

“Might want to see about getting that fixed, too,” Harry spoke up again, feeling somewhat annoyed that it appeared to be a glaring security issue that Thomas overlooked. The other Auror didn’t look fazed, simply smiled and bowed his head. Somehow it annoyed Harry even further. “And fast,” He added, shortly. Thomas’ smile faltered just for a moment, before returning. 

“Be damned if I can do a thing about that, I’m afraid. I’ll ask around at the Ministry when we get back from here and get it sorted out though. No worries.” 

Harry gave a curt nod, not wanting to push the issue and annoy Thomas. The man genuinely seemed nice, he really did, but something about him was beginning to set Harry on edge. He was expected to try and protect the Manor from a Death Eater raid and the front gate, which Thomas was meant to have secured or at least _arranged_ to be secured, may as well have been left wide open. On guard or not, why on earth hadn’t he made steps to make it as difficult as possible for someone to make their way in? 

Harry found he didn’t dare let himself dwell on it further, the day was going to become stressful enough without focusing on that slip-up. It would get sorted, he assured himself. If Thomas didn’t mention it when they returned, he would, and there’d be no harm done. Or so he hoped. The pair grew closer to the entrance to the Manor. Thomas’ humming had stopped. The air was still, and silent, and somehow Harry wished Thomas would begin humming again. Something to cut through the suffocating tension that had settled across the entire estate. The pair were just about to put their foot on the first step to the front door when they heard wood groaning and shuddering - a figure appearing at the door. 

Thomas cleared his throat, but Harry simply stared up, taking in the sight of the Malfoy heir at the front door. Harry wasn’t shocked...wasn’t concerned, he was simply _bewildered._

Draco looked down at the pair, coolly, but there was no tell-tale sneer etched across his features, features that were now sickly pale and drawn from stress no doubt. His silver eyes moved anxiously between the two before focusing on Harry, his eyebrow quirking in a silent question. He was still dressed immaculately. Still stood with that stiff, wooden-like posture, head levelled as though bracing himself for an argument. He was thin. A little too thin, his angular features accentuated by it.

But most of all, there was a horrible nervousness about him. As though the tension Harry had been feeling was emanating from him alone, a _beacon_ for it. One hand was in an iron grip around his wand, the other clutching at his own wrist as though for support. The silence hung for an awkward moment, before Draco spoke, quiet and yet piercingly clear. 

“It’s been a while, Potter,” That slightly sneering tone was back, but dulled somehow. 

“Yes...yes, it has. I, uh, suppose you know why we’re here?” Harry watched as the other nodded. He gestured to the other Auror before trying to continue. “This is Thoma-” 

“I’m aware of Mr. Ackerly's presence. And I suppose there’s no chance of me telling you both _now_ that you can head back to the Ministry and forget this, is there?” Draco asked, frowning.

Harry took in a deep breath before continuing. “I’m afraid not. We won’t be long at all, we just need to talk.” 

Harry could hear Thomas shifting, almost nervously, next to him, but didn’t remove his gaze from Draco. It felt as though they were sizing each other up, trying to see where one fit in and the other didn’t, who had the upper hand and who didn’t. Harry expected more arguing, more sneering, more _fight_ from the man.

Instead, all that transpired was a slight slump in Draco’s posture, as though he’d let out a breath he had been holding, and then he turned, gesturing for the other two to follow. There wasn’t a single sign of resistance in the movement, but Harry was sure there’d be some soon. He felt, somehow _knew_ , that Draco was running on empty, saving his energy for when it really mattered. Idly, Harry wondered when the last time ir was that Draco had slept. 

A strange feeling of nostalgia, bitter and cold, followed Harry as they made their way through the Manor. Draco didn’t speak, didn’t offer them anything apart from the sharp click of his shoes against the wooden floors of the Manor. Thomas seemed more interested in looking around the high ceilings and ancient cabinets, as though he was in a museum.

Harry was surprised at how clean and well-kept the inside of the Manor was. From the outside, he’d honestly thought the place would be rotting away, dust-ridden and forgotten. As it stood, Harry got the feeling the walls of the Manor had become a sort of...haven for the pair. Keeping it as clean and presentable as they would have under any other circumstance. But outside...outside they no longer cared. There was no gloating to be had, no pride to be saved, not unless it was _within_ this shell. 

Soon enough, Draco was leading them towards what must have been the kitchen area, and Harry wondered if he was trying to avoid rooms that Harry might know a little too intimately. He appreciated it whether it was intentional or not. Before he opened the door, however, he slowed and eventually stopped just short of the entrance. Draco reasoned with himself for a moment, before turning to face the pair. He opened his mouth, shut it quickly, debated, and then opened it again, staring intently at Thomas. 

“Can I request a quick word with your colleague, Mr Ackerly?” Draco asked, voice lined with formality and a thinly veiled threat that Harry had to work hard not to roll his eyes at. Thomas gave Harry a quick look, who nodded, before shrugging his shoulders and wandering a little way down the hall, giving the pair some space.

Harry looked back at Draco questioningly. “What-” 

“I know being considerate might not entirely be your strong suit, Potter, but if you expect to speak with us about what happened, can I trust that you’ll be respectful about the situation?” 

Harry stared, blankly, at Draco for what felt like an hour before his brain kicked back into gear. “What on Earth...We’re here to _help_ if you’re not clear on that,” Harry’s voice was already growing to a volume he’d promised himself he wouldn’t fall prey to with Malfoy, his stomach burning with annoyance. 

“I’m more than aware what you’re here to do, and I swear if you so much as put on ounce more stress on my Mother with that complex of yours-” 

“What _complex,_ Malfoy?” 

“You know exactly what I mean, Potter. It still might be lost on you, but not everyone can be saved. Not everyone _wants_ your help. At this point, I doubt you could do anything other than cause more hassle for us. And we’ve had _enough_. My _mother_ has had enough,” Draco’s voice was a harsh whisper, and he seemed ready to begin another tirade of insults before gritting his teeth. 

Harry was stunned at the sudden fire in Draco’s eyes, as though the mere thought of allowing Harry to see his Mother again was almost inconceivable. It was rabid. An insane, irrational fury that had Draco gripping his wand ever tighter, as though ready to curse Harry into the next century, and in turn, Harry felt a sudden need to grab his own, wanting to do very much the same.

Thomas must have noticed because the slow and steady pacing behind them had stopped. All three of the pair jumped as the door just beyond them swung open, and Narcissa’s slight frame was illuminated in the doorway. Harry hadn’t realised just how dark the Manor had been until the door to the kitchen had been opened, the windows behind letting in the cold light of morning.

“I thought I heard voices,” She mumbled, quiet and vaguely bored, her eyes immediately pinned on Harry before lingering on the face of her son. A silent question and answer passed between the Malfoys before Narcissa cleared her throat and spoke again. “Come, Draco. Invite our guests in, we don’t want to waste any more of their time than we have to.” 

Draco’s eyes took one glance back at Harry in warning before they entered the kitchen. Narcissa had already quickly and swiftly sat down in a chair pressed up against a large pane of glass, as though this was as close to the outside world she dared get – appreciating it from afar with a cup of tea steaming between her hands. Draco sat opposite her, and Harry knew he shouldn’t wait to be offered a seat and took the one closest to Narcissa, while Thomas quietly sat down next to Draco – now looking painfully nervous and on edge.

His previous confidence and light-hearted tone seemed to have died upon entering the Manor. Harry quickly, desperately, tried to think of the best way to broach the topic Kingsley had sent him out to discuss. There seemed to be no sensitive way to do it. He sighed, feeling any semblance of professionalism and formality wither away within him. He’d never been the best on these types of visits, never been good with _influential_ sorts of families. That grace and tact simply didn’t register with him. 

“So, Potter, what has the Minister sent you here for, exactly?” Narcissa said, voice still quiet and tired, airing on the side of not entirely caring why Harry was here or not. Her gaze was pinned outside across the bleak acres surrounding the Manor, the ever brightening sun doing nothing to perk the place up, like it was sucking the life out of everything around it. Draco’s mouth was shut tight, nothing more than a thin line across his face, eyes dead set on his own hands resting on the table. 

“Kingsley wanted me to talk to you about some precautions we think you should take, considering what’s happened,” Harry began. Neither Malfoy said another word, but Narcissa hummed in response to show she was listening. “We’re...quite concerned, and we’re not entirely convinced that even with the spells across the Manor assessed and repaired that it’s going to be enough to make sure you’re safe.” 

“I see,” Narcissa said. “And what do you suppose we do? As far as I was made aware, you did what you could. Everything that was meddled with has been put to rights. I was assured that the intruders were being investigated, if even possible.” 

Harry hated hearing that bleak mistrust in Narcissa’s voice, as though she had resigned herself to knowing there would never be a streak of good fortune again in her life. Like the Ministry had done the absolute minimum to help her, and that would be all she could take. 

“We _have_ repaired what we could, and we _are_ looking into what happened as much as we can. But...Kingsley is still really concerned. He doesn’t think the Manor is the safest place for you right now,” Harry noticed Draco shift from the corner of his eye but didn’t dare look at him properly lest his composure crumble. “I know it isn’t ideal...I know it isn’t what you want right now, but he’s arranged a safe house for you both and-” 

Narcissa’s cup clattered against the saucer sat on the table, her icy stare whipping around to pin Harry into his seat. “I beg your pardon?” 

Harry was shocked not only by the wavering tone of Narcissa’s otherwise strong voice but by the look of fear laced between her features. Throughout his dealings with the woman, Harry had very rarely seen Narcissa drop her composure, always silent suffering hiding behind a somewhat pretentious glare. But now, Harry could see only a horrible kind of fright hovering behind her eyes, ready to take over with the slightest push. Draco’s equally concerned look only reminded Harry further that he needed to tread very carefully. Harry leaned forward, just a fraction closer to her. 

“Narcissa, _please_. It’s not safe for you here, not right now. I’m not asking you to leave forever, but until we find out what’s happening-” 

“And when will that be?” She snapped. “As far as I recall, this has been going on for months, _years_ even, and you’re not a fraction closer to apprehending those involved. What good will us leaving do?” 

“It will do more good than you realise. They’re bound to come back and what then? You expect to fight them off between yourselves?” 

“We’ve been doing more than well enough without your intervention, Potter,” Draco piped up, glaring across the table at Harry. 

“If that’s what you believe, I won’t argue. But you can’t deny that after what happened you’re at great risk,” Harry said, wishing beyond anything Thomas would speak up and try to help, feeling his footing slipping beneath him with every word that went by.

When he glanced over to the other Auror, hoping to get some support, Thomas was simply staring out the window with a grim expression, but he could tell he was listening intently. Harry knew it was becoming pointless, and Narcissa’s next words all but confirmed it. 

“I appreciate your advice, Potter, but I refuse to leave my home.” 

“Narcissa…” Said woman glared from the use of her name, and Harry felt his cheeks warm in both embarrassment and anger. “Please be reasonable, we’re only asking because we want to help you-” 

“You’ve helped more than enough and, in turn, I believe I’ve been _reasonable_ enough allowing you into our home at all. If you’ve managed to mend the spells across the Manor, I think it’s best you leave us be.” 

Silence fell across the table.

Narcissa turned back to the window and Harry couldn’t help but notice how her body shook as though barely containing her frustration. He just could not understand how stubborn they were being when their lives could very well be hanging in the balance - held on by nothing more than a tattered thread. 

“I’ll show you out,” Draco said, standing up from his chair, and Harry let the lingering arguments running through his head fizzle away. He nodded, and both he and Thomas followed the man out. He gave a small goodbye to Narcissa, who didn’t seem to notice he was there at all. 

Just before the three of them neared the front door, Harry whispered to Thomas to go ahead and meet him at the gate. The man nodded, giving him a sheepish smile, and trotted back down the gravel pathway, glancing up numerous times at the hedges as though checking they weren’t closing up around him. Harry stood at the entryway, looking at Draco with a pleading kind of gaze. 

“I suppose there’s no chance I can even reason with you?” He said, hoping it didn’t sound as short as it did to his own ears. 

“I don’t believe so, no,” Draco responded. 

“I don’t understand why you’re being so...” 

“Stubborn? Insufferable? Ridic-” 

“ _Malfoy_ …” Harry sighed, running a hand across his tired eyes, not wanting another argument. When he looked back up, Harry was surprised to see a sad sort of smile across Draco’s face.

Again, that tired disposition seemed to have fallen upon him, weighing down his shoulders. He looked...softer. Vulnerable. It was such a foreign sight to Harry, not seeing that ruler-straight posture and body thrumming with a kind of venomous electricity. 

He looked painfully human. 

“As much as I loathe to admit it, Potter. I _know_ you’re trying to help. But you can’t. Not now. And I want you to leave us alone.” 

“Why? I told you, Kingsley has already secured somewhere safe for you, so you can get out of the way.” 

Draco seemed to ponder the question for a moment, debating whether he should even grace Harry with a reply. In the end, he seemed to give in. “I don’t expect _you_ to understand, Potter, but aside from each other, this home is the only thing we have left. It doesn’t matter to us whether you think it’s safe or not – this is the only sanctuary we have. _Some_ of us might have gained glory and respect and _praise_ after the war, but we lost everything. And I will _not_ see my Mother lose anything else.” 

Harry’s anger was smothered with a sick sort of pity at those words.

He wanted to remind Draco that he wasn’t the only one who had lost things, lost people, loved ones. But then Harry remembered how little he’d seen of the Malfoys, how much they’d been hassled in the streets, how quickly they’d been chased into that home and kept out of the way to avoid any further loss to their pride and their sanity.

He wanted to remind Draco that he most definitely had not gained anything out of the war. There was nothing to be gained after something like that, only confusing talk of peace and contentment that Harry could never comprehend existed, even now.

“If you don’t leave this house, Malfoy, your Mother will likely lose something more important than just this place,” Harry said, and the words hung heavy between them like dark clouds. A conflicted emotion passed across Draco’s eyes, and for a moment Harry thought he might have done it, might have really convinced him.

It was gone again in an instant.

“I’ll just have to take that risk.” 

Draco turned and closed the door behind him. Harry stared at it for longer than was necessary, breathing deep and trying to keep his emotions in check, somehow hoping that the door would open again, and he might get a second chance to convince Draco. But after a moment, he turned and caught up with Thomas, who was waiting by the gate dutifully, looking less enthusiastic than he had done before. 

“Well, that went well,” Thomas joked, though Harry didn’t smile back. 

“I expected as much.” 

“Yeah, guess we’ll be on duty tonight. I’m gunna report back and then go catch some shut-eye for the time being.” 

“Remember to get someone over about this gate,” Harry said, sternly. 

“Will do,” Thomas replied, his voice sounding flat and somewhat disheartened. He said nothing more to Harry and simply walked away, and soon that tell-tale pop of an apparition filled the air and Harry was alone. 

He took one more glance back at the Manor, huffing out a breath and running a hand across his jawline, feeling exhausted already. But still, he returned to the Ministry and let Kingsley know about what had transpired. The Minister was neither surprised nor disappointed and told Harry to square things up at the office and head home to rest as he was due to meet Thomas around eight that evening.

Ron tried his best to squeeze information out of Harry, but he got very little in return for all his pestering. Instead, he opted for wishing Harry luck and told him to fill him in the next time he got, and that if he needed anything – all he had to do was let him know. In all the chaos, Harry completely forgot to mention the gate to Kingsley, figuring it would be sorted by the time he returned to the Manor and if it wasn’t - he’d get a message out about it then. 

Still, as he returned to his flat for the day, attempting to catch some sleep on the sofa, it weighed heavily on his mind, drifting in and out of anxious memories of the conversation he’d had not hours before.

Harry wanted nothing more than to wink out of existence for a time, to catch his breath and to set his head straight, but soon enough – exhaustion won, and he slept. 


	4. A Grave Mistake

Harry felt sick when he finally woke. 

The living room of his flat was bathed in cold, Autumn light, the sun finally beginning to settle down for the night. All he wanted to do was to sink further into the sofa, and childishly spent a moment pretending that he had nothing at all to do that night, that he’d simply woken up from a nap and was confused and dazed. No such luck. The reality washed over him like the bitter, near-Winter breeze outside and he sat up, back creaking in protest. He rubbed his eyes, debated grabbing food before deciding against it for the time being, making his way into the bathroom to freshen up. 

It was strangely quiet as Harry made his way towards the Manor. Not a single bird could be heard in the woods surrounding the place and even the breeze seemed subdued and silent. He was early out of nothing more or less than restlessness rather than professionalism and decided to walk the long distance up to the Manor. The building loomed in the horizon and it seemed to Harry as though not a single light was on in the place. None of the windows twinkled back at him like curious eyes, they were deathly black and cold. Harry wondered absently if this was yet another sign of the Malfoy’s retreat, their distance from the world, not even wanting to keep a single light on lest people remembered they existed at all. 

Harry paused a fair bit away from the grounds, remembering suddenly that he hadn’t even arranged a spot that him and Thomas would meet. He squinted in the fast-falling cover of night, his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, one clutching his wand inside the material. It was only then that he remembered about the gate, able to catch a blurred glance of it from the corner of his eye. A warm flush of heat flooded him, an electric shock of panic, and he hoped beyond anything Thomas really had kept his word and got the gate attended to. He knew he should be able to trust the Ministry and those they employed, knew they’d worked so hard to weed out any corruption – especially within the Auror department. 

And still... 

A frustrated sigh escaped Harry’s lips. He didn’t want to get too close to the Manor, paranoid that even from the distance of the gate he’d be seen, or that the gate really had been fixed and would alert the Malfoys that they were snooping around. And then what? Best case scenario he got a bollocking from the Malfoys and they’d have to leave or retreat even further back. Worst case scenario they alerted the Ministry and Harry would have to deal with yet another cock-up that Robbards always put down to a certain hot-headed quality that seemed to overcome Harry on particular cases. 

It really was a wonder Kingsley kept him around. If Harry had been in the Minister’s shoes, he wasn’t so sure he’d put up with it himself. Still, things had always turned out right, his gut had never led him astray... 

So why was he so nervous _now_? 

As though his legs were attached to puppet strings, Harry began to creep slowly up towards the gate. He’d get just close enough. Just close enough to see if that face would appear and scowl back at him, demand what he wanted and what his purpose was. Then Harry would know, for sure, that it was fixed and their backs were covered. No easy entrances if the Death Eaters did decide to make a move, and Harry could resign himself to trusting Thomas, even if something about the man set him on edge. 

Harry couldn’t have been more than ten feet away from the entrance when a hand clamped on his shoulder. 

In an instant, Harry’s hand flew out from his pocket, whirling around and aiming it at his attacker with practised movements. He’d very nearly cast a stunning spell before his eyes and his brain caught up and he let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. 

“Jesus, Harry, you gave me a fright,” Thomas said, his voice slightly hushed but panicked. 

“Gave _you_ a fright?” Harry snapped back. 

“Well, at least you’re ready and waiting, I suppose.” 

Harry backed off from Thomas, glancing behind his shoulder towards the gate and taking in a frustrated sigh. 

“Of all the times to sneak up on me-” 

“I did call your name, just didn’t want to be loud was all.” 

“Yeah, and I nearly hexed you into next week because of it.” 

Thomas let a sheepish smile take over his face, shrugging and beginning to open his mouth to apologize before he seemed to realise whereabouts they were. “What were you doing ‘ere, anyway? I realised we’d never agreed somewhere to meet with everything going on, so I just kept walking around the estate,” Thomas said, his voice edging on suspicious for a moment.

Harry couldn’t believe the audacity of Thomas being suspicious of _him_ , but then realised from someone outside looking in – it didn’t look all too good. Harry debated avoiding Thomas’ question altogether but figured if they were going to be at this post for the next few nights, he had to force himself to form some kind of trust between them, rather than Harry berating him again. 

“I just wanted to make sure the gate got fixed. I was going to mention it when I went back to the Ministry and forgot.” 

“Well, it’s taken care of,” Thomas replied, shortly. 

“Look, I’m not trying to hassle you about it, I’d just rather be sure-” 

“I _know_ , I know. Look, you can even tell from here it’s been fixed up. Doesn’t look like someone’s face caught a chill in the wind anymore. I got someone down there to look at it the minute I got back, told them it was a priority.” 

Harry turned around again and took a couple more steps forward. Sure enough, the gate which had been twisted and bent into a painful grimace now looked like a completely ordinary iron fence. Harry took a breath and nodded, mostly to himself. _I can let it go now,_ he told himself, but somehow the words rang hollow. Still, Harry turned back to the other Auror and followed him as they retreated from the Manor. 

“I’ve got a tent set up right at the back of grounds under a Disillusionment Charm, it’s down to get really cold in the next few hours...plus I figured we ought to have somewhere to rest. Gunna be a long night. I figured we can take it in turns running rounds until it gets properly dark, then it might be best one of us covering the back, one of us the front. If you’re okay with that?” 

Harry noted how the last sentence was added hastily, and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty for how hard he’d been on Thomas. Since when had he become so suspicious of _everyone_ that worked in the Ministry? “Makes sense to me. Want me to take the next round?” 

“Nah, it’s fine, I’ll do it. I’ll show you to the tent and you can grab a drink, then you can take over when I get back. Should be completely dark by then, but I reckon if anything’s gunna happen, it’ll be in the early hours.” 

Harry felt decidedly useless as he sat in the tent, hidden away from sight, a warm drink cupped in his hands as he stared out across the desolate acres behind the Manor. A quick charm on his glasses had seen to it that he could see a mile more clearly than he would have under regular circumstances, but he still felt as though they were too far away, like even if he did see something he wouldn’t be able to make it over there in time. All the while, he still couldn’t shake his mistrust of Thomas. The man was doing his best to stay on Harry’s good side, but it still didn’t settle the anxious writhing in his stomach completely.

They took their rounds back and forth over the next few hours, and the passing of time seemed to soothe Harry somewhat. There hadn’t been a single disturbance, not even an animal had crossed the back of the grounds and every time Harry ventured to the front of the Manor the building stared back at him solemnly, seeming to question his presence. Thomas had been quiet but pleasant, reporting back within the time frame they’d gradually set for themselves, never so much as a minute out. 

When Thomas was late for their final split shift, Harry had been lulled into a sense of comfort so gently - he didn’t even notice the man was gone at all.

~-*-~

For a very long time, Draco had managed to effectively silence his troubles by simply pretending they didn’t exist at all. He had retreated into the Manor after the incarceration of his father, knowing full well that he would reside in that place almost completely alone, probably until his death. His mother had known it, too.

She had never spoken about it, never confided it with Draco – a habit she was hard put to leave behind – but it had been said, loudly, by the defeated slump of her shoulders and cold, bitter eyes. The Malfoys had become the dirt of the wizarding world, nothing more or less than a couple of pages in history books to come, a family remembered only as a warning, remembered only to try and forget them with time. 

That knowledge had stung and deep down kept on cutting into him like a knife wedged in his gut, but he had superficially discarded it all the same by pretending that nothing outside of the Manor even existed. And what irony was it that his troubles surfaced now, all because of Potter? _Always_ because of Potter. 

Somehow, he hadn’t been surprised to see the man at the front door to the Manor that day, because Draco’s good luck had began crumbling before his very eyes from the first day he’d met Harry. Who better to ensure he didn’t have a second of peace again than him? And yet that wasn’t the real worry. The worry wasn’t because the Ministry was so kindly sticking its nose into their business again. The worry wasn’t just a bitter taste after discovering the Ministry only cared about them when it was blatantly obvious ignoring them might blow up in their face. And the worry _certainly_ wasn’t because Harry had come into their home, weakly arguing that they should flee for the thousandth time, something they had pretended to find insulting. 

The trouble was simply that Draco had _wanted_ to leave. 

Malfoy Manor, for all its oppressing air and looming height, was the only place Draco had felt safe after the war, regardless of the gruesome memories lurking within the walls like rats. But he did not want to stay there for his entire life. Deep down he wasn’t happy with letting the world trap them inside, trying to forget about them. And above it all, Draco was scared to stay there for too long. Again, that unspoken knowledge had hung between himself and his mother, the knowledge that eventually _they’d_ come. One of those obsessive, half-mad Death Eaters would come for them eventually and they wouldn’t be able to hold them off forever. 

Ever since Draco had closed the door on Harry and told him there was no way they’d be swayed to leave; he couldn’t stop thinking about how it had been a mistake. Because he absolutely could not pretend for any longer that he didn’t want a life – he'd never wanted anything more. Some other sanctuary apart from the Manor, to be able to go outside without fear of humiliation or injury, to actually make his way into a profession that his painfully ambitious brain _screamed_ for. 

Draco hadn’t been able to get so much as a handful of words out of his mother once Harry and the other Auror had left. She’d stayed in the kitchen for the longest time, sipping endless cups of tea and staring out at the grounds as though wishing she had the courage to venture out there. Draco had almost brought it up but knew when to fight his battles with her. It hadn’t been the time. There had been something horribly vulnerable and scared in her posture. 

So, he’d spent the rest of his day either pottering around in the library, trying to take his mind away from everything and transport into the pages of a book – failing to do so – before retiring to his room to doze the rest of the day away. It was no surprise to him when he found he couldn’t really settle, like his brain had been electrocuted into a frenzy of thoughts, mulling over memories he wished he could remove permanently, fighting with himself about whether he should contact the Ministry himself and stomach the shame.

The courage never came, but sleep did. 

When Draco next woke, it was pitch black, as though every candle throughout the Manor had been snuffed out, smothering the place in an unnerving shadow. He’d fallen asleep on top of the covers, still fully clothed, his shirt rumpled and creased and untucked in parts. It took a long moment of blinking back the darkness and listening out against the silence of the Manor before he realised what had woken him. 

It sounded like something incredibly heavy had fallen and broken, echoing across the expanse of the Manor like a clap of thunder.

Draco felt his pulse quicken, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead as he slowly, carefully, shifted over the side of the bed, grabbing at the drawers next to it for his wand. A quick wave of comfort came over him as his fingers closed around the wood. He stopped at the door to his room, listening out again for any sign of a disturbance, and found none. But something didn’t feel right. He felt it right down to his core, felt it right where that invisible knife still jutted out between his ribcage. 

If they were going to come it would have been tonight, and Draco now couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been to let himself fall asleep. 

Silently, he opened the door and peeked his head around the corner, his footsteps sounding far too loud in the empty expanse of the hallway. He glanced into the only other bedroom in use - and found Narcissa wasn’t there. He hoped beyond anything that she was still in the kitchen, still next to that large window staring out across the Manor as though ghosts were dancing across her vision. But he knew. _Merlin_ , he knew. 

At that panicked knowledge he seemed to forget about being silent, seemed to forget about being cautious and careful and all that other nonsense the Ministry kept harping on about. How on Earth could you be expected to be so collected when it was your _mother_ that was missing from her bed and hidden under the darkness of your own home? When you somehow knew beyond any kind of rational thought that something bad had happened, and your feet didn’t seem able to carry you quick enough to them? 

Draco’s raving thoughts were shot right out of his head when a flash of green light rocketed across the downstairs hallway towards him. If he had been but a second too slow, it would have hit him right in the chest. He couldn’t even see who had sent the spell, but retaliated in turn, feeling like he was fighting a phantom rather than another wizard.

All the panic and the fright seemed to melt away as Draco concentrated, and no one would ever see or believe how he didn’t back off in fear, didn’t even _think_ to be defensive. All he knew was that his mother was somewhere within the gloom, the very people who had ruined their lives hiding in the shadows, trying to take _everything_ from them. He moved forward, bit by bit, trying to cover ground and praying for the other person to fall. 

And fall they did. 

They fumbled for what couldn’t have even been more than a few seconds, and Draco took full advantage. The spell struck, and his attacker shot backwards into a lifeless heap looking more like a lump of crumpled up robes than anything living. Draco didn’t even take the time to see who it was and somehow didn’t care. He advanced down the hallway in a jog, only pausing to glance at the body and check for movements, before he turned the corner and caught sight of the splintered state of the living room doorway – and knew what had woken him.

Only then did his movements slow, wand arm at the ready, glancing over his shoulder like some trapped animal. 

His pale face peeked into the living room. A single candle was lit in the far corner of the room, and Draco could finally make out how one of the chairs had overturned, as though someone had scrambled to get out of it in a rush. He could see a cup smashed against the floor, a dark spot of liquid where the tea had soaked into the rug. And then something darker. Something red. A great crimson stain staring up at him. The candle flickered against the pale, elegant fingers of his mother’s hand lying upturned on the carpet, and Draco lost his composure. 

He shot over to his Narcissa’s side, calling out to her in a wavering voice, but she didn’t respond. For a minute, Draco was lost, simply cradling her head in his hands, everything around him seeming to swim in and out of clarity. It was only when he saw the flickering of her eyes and felt the faintest whisper of a pulse under his fingers that he began to get his brain into gear, began to think of what his next move should be. 

He heard something in the doorway and his head snapped towards the sound, nearly uttering the spell before his wand even found the target, but his back had been turned and he was too slow. A thundering shock of pain swept through his head and he fell backwards, cracking his skull against the floor and feeling warmth blooming there. _Like the roses mother used to keep in the gardens_ his head muttered, confused and dizzy. He tried his best to keep his eyes open, tried his best to lift his head and fumble for his wand that had skittered across the room. 

Noise seemed to erupt from everywhere at once, voices and furniture breaking and he thought, for a moment, someone had called out his name. So frightened. So concerned. But Draco found that he didn’t care. Found that he almost welcomed it all blending into one great big mess of sound. It was like a soothing white noise. And all he could do was stare up at those great, high ceilings, reaching out blindly again. Not for his wand, but for his mother. 

Suddenly a delirious bubble of laughter left his lips and he thought, wildly, that _yes...yes I really will die in these walls, isn't that awfully sad?_

The noise stopped, and Draco found that he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer.


	5. Admitting Defeat

When Draco wakes - he can't quite place where he is. 

The only thing he’s completely, utterly sure about is the fact that his entire skull feels as though it’s been split apart. The fact that he’s still able to think at all leads him to believe the pieces had only _just_ been glued back together. His mind tries to put together what had happened, where he was, but everything was swimming before him in a sickening wave of colours, his stomach churning. Draco tries to open his eyes and finds he can’t do it. After a moment, no closer to grabbing his memories with a phantom hand, he falls back into unconsciousness. 

The next thing Draco recalls is being pulled gently from the darkness by voices.

It sounds like a man. The man sounds worried, painfully so, but Draco can’t think of any wizard that would be that concerned about him, knows there isn’t anyone at all that does. Aside from his mother, perhaps. And then it hits him like a tonne of bricks. Panic shoots through his body and for a moment he cracks his eyes open, the light outside of those protective lids blinding and painful. He tries to push through, tries to alert someone in the room, to tell them to help her. No one seems to hear, or if they do, they ignore him. 

Draco tries again to fight the sweet mercy of sleep, but his body needs it, and he fails to keep his thoughts grounded.

After a moment, he has drifted away again.

~-*-~

Harry, much to the confusion of Ron, takes more than a little liberty and visits St. Mungo’s almost every day.

Kingsley hasn’t complained. Robbards certainly doesn’t seem off put by it, or perhaps doesn’t dare to question it. But Ron seems to sense that there’s something not entirely work-related about those visits. The fact was, it had nothing to do with work at all. Of course, once Draco recovered and woke, he’d have to ask him many a question, and by then they’d probably have no choice but to force him into a safehouse.

But Harry's reasons did not settle comfortably within that narrative. His anxious eyes and sleepless nights, coupled with an annoying jitter in his leg, were more than enough for anyone to realise he was worried about Draco. Ron was perhaps just apt to let his hunches be known more than the others. The truth was, that night had been one of the first times Harry had been truly terrified working as an Auror – because he honestly thought he’d walked into a murder scene.

He thought he’d been too late.

It was made worse by the fact that Harry knew he could have stopped it happening. He’d had hunch after hunch about Thomas, and still Harry had let himself be swayed by meaningless gestures and two-faced remarks about how the man was _just trying to help_. When Harry had been interrogated by Kingsley the following morning, the Minister had let it be known that if anyone was to blame, it was the Ministry itself for allowing someone like Thomas to thrive within the department, never knowing what he’d been hiding, never knowing the information he’d been squirrelling away. The sabotage he’d brought about. 

Whether Thomas was as involved as they imagined, they couldn’t tell. He might have been threatened, for all they knew, might not even be one of Voldemort’s little fanatics but a sort of tag-along. But all of that felt irrelevant to Harry because he’d had the power to put an end to it countless times – but had chosen not to. Because he was trying to distance himself from his work because he thought he didn’t really care about the job at all. And now, Draco was drifting in and out of reality in a hospital bed. Narcissa might not even wake up at all. 

All because of Thomas. All because he’d disappeared on that final split shift. All because of that damn _gate_.

The salt in the wound being that Thomas had all but disappeared, too. They hadn’t found a trace of him. Not yet. Harry could feel the shame of that hanging over him like a smoke screen. He had seen the accusation in the eyes of many an Auror that had, until that night, looked upon him favourable, almost fondly. Harry thought, quite bitterly, that it was like his fourth year at Hogwarts all over again. No one believing him. Everyone sick of him getting involved in some kind of insane drama. The only difference was that this time Ron was a solid bit of comfort by his side, as he’d almost always been.

~-*-~

A week flew by, and Harry’s visits became more tentative.

Draco was showing no real signs of waking, never mind being in a good enough mind to talk, and frankly he was a little tired of being questioned about where he was going off to during his shift. The way people talked, he reckoned they thought he was just visiting for a laugh and to get time away from the unorganised mess cluttering his desk.

Admittedly, he hadn’t touched his papers in weeks, he’d almost come to rely on Ron to run through the urgent pieces for him. One morning, he resigned himself to forget about visiting for the day and to try and catch up, to try and get back to normality. But as fate would have it, that was the morning Kingsley decided to personally collect him from his desk, soothing an irritated Robbards with no more or less than a bored, and vaguely annoyed, glare. 

“Do I dare ask what’s wrong?” Harry sighed once the pair had retreated into Kingsley's office. Even Alice’s greeting was lacking in that usual warm tone, and Harry tried to kid himself into believing it was just because she was busy. 

“I’m not sure, do you?” Kingsley said, edging on teasing but not quite hitting the mark. “Well, I had an update in the early hours from St. Mungo’s. I asked them to keep me informed of any change with Draco immediately. It seems he’s come to, which is good news.” 

Harry let out a deep breath, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "That's good...really good. Have we heard anything else about what exactly happened that night? Before...before I got there?"

Kingsley cast a sympathetic gaze to Harry but said nothing. Instead, he seemed to sit on the question for a moment, mentally running through the events as though he'd been so busy, he was finding it hard to keep up on what he had, and _hadn't_ told Harry.

"Well, nothing too new. Thomas is still nowhere to be seen - if that really is his name. I've got more wizards and witches on his tail than you can imagine. It may surprise you, but I don't think he was alone, either. Narcissa, from what I've heard, is quite naturally gifted at duelling, she wouldn't have gone down without a good fight, and there was quite a lot of damage in the sitting room from both sides. I think they were overwhelmed, or at the very least caught _exceptionally_ off guard. Ah, and it turns out the gate was actually in perfect, working order."

Harry considered Kingsley for a moment, wondering if the man was simply saying that to try and soothe Harry’s guilt – but there was a curious glint in the Minister’s eye that said otherwise. "So, they didn't get in from the front?" Harry asked.

"Oh, they did."

"Sir?" Harry said, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

"Back in the midst of the war and with the Malfoys history, they had another quite neat little charm on that gate, one that would let Death Eater's pass through with a gesture, a kind of salute- ah, I see that you recall."

Harry's face had blossomed into horrifying realisation. He never would have remembered, never would have _thought_ to remember. "I never even realised, I didn’t…I just-"

"Don't dwell on it, Harry. It wouldn't have made a difference. Naturally, the Ministry saw to it that particular spell was done away with after the war. It seems like Thomas took to repairing the wards and charms with a little too much detail. Can't be helped."

Kingsley's comforting words did nothing to help Harry's sickened expression, nor did it dislodged the rock that had somehow been stuck down his throat. It felt like everything just kept becoming worse and worse. The Minister seemed pretended not to notice, to not draw attention to it, and continued.

“Anyway, Harry, I have a few things to clarify with you,” Kingsley continued. “And I won’t be offended whether you decide to pass on this case from here on. I know the past few days have been quite difficult. I’m not entirely sure myself what our future actions are going to entail. I do know that now, ironically, we do have the grounds to somewhat force Draco and his Mother, if she does indeed get better, into a safehouse. We have one place already sat waiting, and the wizards on hand to keep them, but I’m somewhat reluctant to move them both together.” 

“Why’s that?” 

“If you were playing quidditch, Harry, how good would your focus be if we put two snitches on the field to catch?” 

“Not great,” Harry mumbled, understanding immediately where Kingsley was going.

“Exactly. One target is far easier to handle than two. The more difficult we make it for them to carry out their little rebellion, the safer we can keep Draco and Narcissa, and the more time we have to get to the root of the problem.” 

“I suppose you want me to talk to them about it?” 

“I won’t force you, Harry. If you say to me right now that you want to drop the case altogether, I won’t hold it against you. The choice is yours. But if you do want to keep pursuing this with me, I’d be grateful. I know I can trust you, and trust is something I’m very much running short of at the minute,” Kingsley said with a wry smile.

The choice wasn't really a choice at all.

~-*-~

Harry knew he was stalling.

He must have asked the mediwizard loitering outside of Draco’s room a thousand times if she was sure, _absolutely sure_ , that Draco was conscious and well enough for Harry to speak to him. After more than a few rather short exchanges, the woman snapped that she was _perfectly_ certain that Mr. Malfoy was fit and well for visitors, and that she had more than a few other patients to see. Harry stood outside even longer, glancing at the door to Draco’s room as though it had personally offended him. He was pulled back into his senses when a trainee healer approached him to ask if he was alright, before he excused himself and opened the door to Draco’s room. 

He closed the door quietly behind him, and for a second he thought that Draco was asleep. He was even paler than usual, the tired skin around his eyes looking even darker in contrast. There was a bandage plastered around the back of his head, blonde hair sticking up in messy tufts and creating something almost endearing about Draco’s appearance. It was unusual to see him anything other than immaculate. Harry couldn’t see his own eyes softening at the sight, a strange mixture of sympathy and guilt bubbling in his stomach, and would have been embarrassed if he _could_ see the change. He hardly noticed Draco’s silver eyes peering up at him, didn’t truly register it until Draco spoke. 

“Hello, Potter. No flowers? I should have known your manners were still lacking,” The voice was dull, and Harry knew the humour was nothing more or less than Draco tiredly trying to hold back his inherent snark. He wondered how angry Draco really was, wondered if he was seething beneath that exhausted gaze, knew it would do no good to dwell on it any further. His stomach was already in knots.

“How are you feeling? The nurse said you’d taken a good turn during the night.” 

“Well, I feel as though there’s a giant hole in the back of my head. Though I suppose I should be grateful - I’m not half as bad as my Mother.” 

Harry could have sworn an icy chill ran through the room. He ignored it, pulling up a seat a suitable distance away from Draco, as though scared the man would try and reach out and strangle him. Harry wouldn’t be surprised if the other man still tried despite his injuries. But he didn't. Draco lay there, gazing up at the ceiling as though pondering, stuck in his own daydreams. Harry couldn't stop thinking about how tired he looked, how worn.

“I’m sure she’ll come around soon,” Harry said, voice quiet. 

“Oh yes, I’m sure she’ll have a wonderful recovery,” Draco suddenly hissed. 

Harry began to lose his composure, the stress rising in a lightning strike as though it had been ready to ambush him from the start.

“You should be grateful we arranged to have Aurors at the Manor, otherwise you’d have both been in a far worse state than you are now.” 

“Grateful?” Draco’s eyes snapped towards Harry and locked onto him, a tinge of pink beginning to warm his cheeks. “I _am_ sorry, _Potter,_ but I fail to see how I should be grateful that you brought a Death Eater right up to our front door.” 

Harry’s body flushed with heat and shame and it struck him, as it had many a time, that Draco seemed to have a genetic advantage to winding him up to the highest degree with no more than a handful of sentences. 

“That’s irrelevant, it would have happened sooner or later, if you’d have just listened to us-” 

“Don’t preach to me, Potter-” 

“At least we got there in time!” 

“Not _nearly_ quick enough." 

Harry’s brain seemed to lose all its logical connections, seemed to lose any sense of tact, or sympathy, it even forgot how to tell his own mouth to shut up. Because he was raising his voice, and his next words caused a horribly thick silence to fill the room, a place in his heart momentarily becoming black and bitter, his good nature swallowed up in a mixture of stress and fear and worry.

“And I suppose you'd have preferred us not to be there at all, would you? Ending up dead because you never have the guts to fight back?" 

The minute the words left Harry’s mouth he regretted them.

Not for the first time, he felt a wash of shame at how quickly he could snap back, impulsive by nature and never thinking about what his words could sometimes do. He didn't even mean it. As a teenager, as a _child_ , he'd always been the first to point out what a coward Draco had been. But now? After this, after _everything_ , Harry couldn't have picked a lower insult if he tried - and he knew it.

The flash of pain he felt was accentuated by Draco’s expression. That cold, Malfoy mask slipped quickly and briefly - shame and anger flickering across his face in quick succession. But that wasn't what sent Harry's stomach lurching. It was the _hurt_ that did. The pain that settled there as though it was a part of Draco.

“I _did_ fight back,” Malfoy said, quietly. “I’ve always tried to protect my mother. _Always_.” 

Harry felt his stomach knot, painful and guilty. He opened his mouth, wanting to apologise, but the words wouldn’t come half as fast as that pathetic insult had. Strangely, Draco seemed to want to fire back, hurl those well-versed insults and curses Harry’s way, but something within him was tired, worn out, and was withering away.

Draco sighed, and averted decidedly watery eyes away from Harry and to the flowers at the bottom of his bed, courtesy of the hospital staff. No one else. His weak attempt at a joke earlier had more weight to it than Harry or Draco even realised. Of course, there were no get well wishes. No flowers from loved ones. Of course not. Where there should have been a familiar name printed on the card embedded in the sickly flowers, there was only an impersonal stamp from the hospital itself.

“I’d appreciate it if I could have some time to rest,” Draco said. 

“Malfoy, look-” 

“We’ll talk about whatever it is the Ministry wants later. I’m in no mood for it, and until my mother wakes up it’s useless to even discuss. I’m sure you’ve plenty of other things to be doing.” 

The words hung heavy in the air, and Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. He knew then that he wouldn’t even dare report back to Kingsley about this, would hide away at his desk and pretend he'd never visited at all. He was so tired. So emotionally exhausted and yet felt like he was repressing so _much_. All the worry and the fear pushed down until it exploded into a jet of anger, always at the worst time, always the same. As Harry turned to leave, he paused, willing that apology on the tip of his tongue to leave his mouth, but Draco seemed to sense it and cut it off. 

“Make sure the door is closed.” 

And that was it. 

Malfoy stared at the closed door to his hospital room from a long time, blinking back tears, fists clenched, wondering when on earth he would truly get another chance, whether another chance would even make a difference anymore.

Mostly, he wondered if he even deserved that much.

~-*-~

Ron and Hermione sat quietly in their home, solemnly taking in Harry’s account of the day without a word, not until Harry had finished, anyway. Truthfully, he’d not wanted to come, didn’t feel like seeing another soul for the rest of the day, but he knew he couldn’t keep cancelling, knew that even if they gave advice he didn't want to hear, he’d feel better for getting the whole ordeal off his chest. As it turns out, Ron didn’t quite see what the fuss was about. He thought it was somewhat fitting that Malfoy was getting a taste of his own medicine for once, however harsh the words had been. 

It was only when Hermione glanced over to her partner, eyes dark and sad, that Harry heard what he’d been feeling in his heart all day. 

“Maybe we’ve all suffered enough, Ron. Maybe even Malfoy. Don’t you find it tiring?” 

Harry excused himself to the bathroom not long after, angry tears beginning to well up into his eyes.

He felt like a child. Felt stunted in some way, like he couldn’t deal with even the simplest tasks that entailed being an Auror anymore, couldn’t even handle his own feelings. He wondered if he could tell Kingsley he wanted to drop the case altogether, put his head in the sand and continue on the dull, repetitive path he’d resigned himself to like before.

But he knew he couldn’t.

He kept _worrying_. Wondering if Narcissa would recover. Wondering where the pair would end up if they could even find another safehouse to separate them, to improve their chances of actually being able to survive, to _live_. Wondering whether Harry's words would linger in Draco's head, taunting him, adding to the never ending stream of hate everyone seemed to want to punish the Malfoy heir with.

Sheepishly, he returned to the living room and settled back down with the pair, who seemed to be trying to change the subject at any cost, knowing Harry didn’t want to stew over the matter any further.

They talked, idly, about this and that, how Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was going, how Ron had been considering for some time whether he might not decide to go work with George there at some point, how they were debating moving house once Hermione had managed to secure a higher position at the Ministry. With the way she was going, Harry figured that meant they might be moving as soon as next week and said as such. Hermione had laughed, flushing proudly. 

“I don’t think it’ll be quite that soon.” 

“You’d have thought she'd have lost her modesty by now, wouldn’t you, Harry?” Ron smirked. 

“You’re _both_ being ridiculous. Though it would be nice to get moved somewhere sooner rather than later.” 

“What’s wrong with this place?” Harry asked.

The apartment Ron and Hermione had decided to rent as their first home was a little bigger than Harry's, but just as welcoming. It felt like the Burrow, but with how clean and tidy the place always was - it was as though Hermione's influence had bled into the surroundings. It was...balanced. Well-worn and comforting with its clutter, but never quite verging on crowded or aged.

“It's just...a little too small,” Hermione said, and Harry thought he saw a flicker of something pass her eyes - something amused and hopeful.

“Reckon you could donate Grimmauld Place to us, Harry? That’d do us both,” Ron chuckled.

Harry laughed, about to tell Ron that he’d have to settle for renting the place from Walburga with the way things were going, but the words halted on his tongue.

Grimmauld Place.

These days he all but forgot about that house. He’d never really wanted to move back into it. Too many memories hanging onto the fixtures and fittings, and he found he couldn’t ever imagine himself being able to renovate the place enough to truly love living there. He was happy with his flat. Not too big, not too small - homely. The Black family home was never a place he could have imagined ever being cosy or comfortable. It was a shame it was just sat there, hidden away from prying eyes, secure and safe but unwanted - cold. 

A real shame... 

“Harry, you alright, mate?” Ron said. 

Harry came back to his senses at last, a kind of restless yet motivated feeling falling upon him. “Yeah...I was just, you know, thinking it _is_ a shame that house doesn’t get used.” 

Ron stared at him, oblivious, but when Harry caught Hermione’s eyes, he could have sworn he saw her nod in agreement. Knowing, somehow, of his plan. 

She always did.


	6. Change of Pace

There had been a change in Harry.

Nothing monumental, nothing ground-breaking, and definitely not something many people noticed all too much. It was a subtle shift, one even Ron was hard put to notice at first. But notice he did, and in some ways – Ron had been happy to see it. Harry was _motivated_ , his spark back and it was as though that manic energy that had overcome them shortly after the war was alive, but now most of the bad memories had been pushed down, never truly gone but muted somehow. In the coming days since Harry’s visit to Ron and Hermione’s place, his desk had been cleared of every scrap of paperwork - finished up and filed away. Anything new that came through was gone in an instant, as though Harry didn’t dare let it get to its usual state again. 

He passed the time picking up smaller jobs he’d been somewhat loathing to even bother with over the past few months, trying to keep his head clear and focused until even Robbards had commented on his sudden change in enthusiasm, stating that he was glad to see him back to normal.

The truth was, none of it was normal, and even more so, Harry couldn’t have cared less about picking up those dull jobs that not even trainees wanted. There was nothing grand to be found in clearing up small fights or staking out potential problem areas without so much as a slither of a promise that something would come of it. It was a dull as dull got.

The truth of the matter was that Harry was filled with a kind of hysterical momentum and didn’t quite know where to put it during work hours. He’d had no correspondence from Kingsley since his less than ideal meeting with Draco, hadn’t heard much about how the Malfoys were getting on in general, but it was still at the forefront of his mind. Harry still didn’t dare return, he’d left like a crup with both tails between its legs, hesitant to go back. Not quite so soon, anyway. Not while he wasn’t prepared. Once picking up small jobs began to lose its novelty, Harry had moved onto his next grand plan.

Getting Grimmauld place in order. 

It had been a lot more work than he’d been expecting, both physically and emotionally. 

Just returning to the place had sapped Harry of his former energy, as though the place stood solely as a monument to how cruel the wizarding world could be, how much could be given before being taken away. He’d crept down the hall, quiet as a mouse, but it had been as though Walburga’s portrait had been _desperate_ for company. She had heard his slightest movements, the curtain covering her slumped slightly from time. He could see her beady bleak eye rolling wildly in its painted socket before clamping down on him, expression furious. 

_“Filth! Traitor! How **dare** you return! How dare you foul this place, scum!” _

Harry’s face had turned stony and emotionless, moving towards the portrait cautiously as though she might just jump out of the frame and attack him. Without saying a word, he’d returned the cloth to its rightful place, using a sticking charm to secure the material together. He supposed it had been so long that the previous charm had faded with time and age. He’d done no more that day than walk around the rooms, feeling some relief as Walburga appeared to deem it useless screaming into the dark.

He wondered if he’d ever be able to get rid of the woman. 

Over the next few evenings, Harry returned. Cleaning up the place where he could, the dust thick and sticking in Harry’s lungs for what felt like hours afterwards. The beds were changed, and he took the linen home to wash it the Muggle way rather than use a cleaning charm. There was something therapeutic in that, something defiant in it, too. He wanted to bleed anything Muggle or _common_ into the house, purge it, do anything he could to make it seem like a home rather than some haunted old house. 

He threw some items out and brought others in. Harry took whatever he could that might have been even remotely connected to Sirius, but most everything else was discarded. He carried in other things to replace them. Cups and plates and cutlery, worn cushions and tatty throws that had been stored away, unused, from his own flat. Anything he no longer used got brought there, trying to almost balance out the energy of the place. He supposed this was what it would have been like had he chosen to call it home. 

It would never have worked.

Though the atmosphere lifted and felt less heavy, it also felt quite false, like all he was doing was putting up props to hide the true nature of the house. But it was enough. More than enough. One of the nights, exhausted, Harry had even stayed over and slept, finding that he didn’t so much as stir from a single bad dream. The next morning, making himself a cup of tea and wandering around the house idly, he found that even Walburga had quieted down. After that, Harry decided it was time to talk to Kingsley about his suggested course of action, hoping that his mishap with Draco hadn’t completely disgraced him. 

When Harry arranged another meeting with Kingsley that same morning, the Minister had all but sat there with a subtle, if not rather smug, look on his face. 

~-*-~

“You’re going mad,” Ron said, probably for the hundredth time that morning. 

“You’ve only just noticed? Honestly, Ron, I thought you knew me better than that.” Harry smirked and glanced over to Ron, who looked close to a mental breakdown, truly not understanding what Harry was playing at. When Ron caught his eyes and saw that very same grin, he rolled his eyes and scoffed in disgust. 

“Of all the people you could want to help, of _all_ the cases you’ve stuck your nose in-” 

“-it _had_ to be with the Malfoys,” Harry said, mimicking Ron’s exasperated tone. “God, you’re sounding more like Hermione every day.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean? Knowing ‘mione she’d be thrilled. _‘Oh, Harry, you’re doing the right thing, really you are, forgetting about everything that happened, forgetting how much of a git Malfoy is, all for the greater good!’_ ” 

“I take it back, your impressions are awful, she’d never say that.” 

“It’d be bloody close.” 

“If you must know, the love of your life is well aware of what my plan is and thinks it’s not half bad. And if we trust anyone’s judgement, it’s hers. You know, if anything, I think she cottoned on that night we got on about Grimmauld place.” 

“Again, why am I not surprised,” Ron said, sulking. 

“Come _on_ , Ron. You know it makes sense.” 

“I don’t see how lending out your Godfathers house to one of the biggest thorns in your side since _Voldemort_ makes ‘sense’. You _despise_ him. If I didn’t know any better, I reckon you’d glue that bloody snake to your side if you thought it’d help.” 

Harry dropped the papers he’d been trying to file back on his desk, looking at Ron with a frown, more tired than angry. “Ron, I know it might not feel like it, but we’re not at Hogwarts anymore. Yes, he _is_ still a git. Yes, I’m not too fond of him myself but I don’t know if you’re aware but him and his mother nearly got blown to smithereens not long back. Grimmauld Place has been sat there collecting dust for Merlin knows how long, the least I can do is offer it up as a safehouse. I’m _never_ going to live in the place. I’m not losing anything.” 

“Apart from your marbles,” Ron said. “Merlin, Harry, you _hate_ him-” 

“-no, I don’t,” Harry mumbled, and Ron gave him a curious look, brows furrowed, utterly confused. “Ron, I don’t _like_ him, you and I both know that. But I can’t find it in myself to hate him anymore, even if he sure as hell hates me. After what's gone on, I reckon I can bite my tongue and try to help, at least.” 

“He doesn’t deserve the help if you ask me.” 

Harry paused, knowing it was becoming pointless arguing, but feeling the need to do so anyway, even if it might make Ron understand just the slightest amount. “Maybe not. Maybe I’m being naïve...but if you’d have seen him, Ron, you’d have felt differently, too.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Harry mulled over the thought, absently chewing on the end of his quill. What _did_ he mean? What had really changed all that much? He was still the stuck-up, spoilt child he’d always been in some ways. Always feeling better than everyone else. And yet... 

“He’s scared, Ron. It's like what happened before is happening all over again for him. He’s not scared for himself; he’s scared for his Mother. I can’t hate him for that. No matter what he’s done I’m not going to just let everything pass by and hope for the best if I can help it.” 

Silence fell in the office, and Harry realised that Ron had finally seen the bigger picture. Heaven knows he still wouldn’t be happy about it but he’d stop fighting - for a while. Ron let out a sigh and Harry knew the argument was done and over with. 

“When are you going back to see them about it?” Ron asked.

“Soon as Kingsley’s free. He wants to be there as well, so they know how serious it is, I think.” 

“Yeah, maybe to stop you running your mouth as well.” 

Harry felt a reluctant smile pull at his lips, even if the guilt did try to flip-flop in his stomach, and Ron burst into laughter. 

“You’re a bigger git than Malfoy is sometimes, you know that?” Harry said. 

Ron only laughed more. 

~-*-~

Kingsley’s presence at St. Mungo’s gave Harry hope. 

The guilt and the anxiety was still present, but the Minister’s soothing manner made it bearable. All the arrangements had been made. The safehouse for Narcissa had been ready and waiting for months, and after Harry had offered Grimmauld Place up to the Ministry Kingsley had wasted no time in making sure he got the place assessed and up to Ministry standards, despite there being very little to do. The security measures taken there had been near to flawless, though Kingsley had stated it was best to be safe after all that had happened. 

“Is Narcissa well enough for us to talk to her?” Harry asked. 

“Yes, she’s recovered nicely, all considering. She’s still quite exhausted, and most definitely needs more time to rest...but I’ve been assured she should be quite alright for us to discuss our next steps today.” 

Harry said no more as they approached Narcissa’s room. Kingsley gave a short, polite knock before pushing the door open gently. Narcissa was sat up in bed, and Harry noted how strangely normal she seemed with her hair down, her face rid of the usual makeup, hands in her lap and staring back at them with meek eyes. Draco was by her side, dressed in his usual attire, his jacket slumped over the back of his chair. The blond nodded at Kingsley, his eyes briefly wandering over Harry before going back to his mother. 

_Better than nothing_ , Harry thought. 

“Minister,” Narcissa said, quietly. 

“Good afternoon. I’m glad to see you’re looking well,” Kingsley said. 

“Yes...” She said, quietly. “Better than before, I suppose. Draco, do grab a couple of chairs-” 

“-allow me.” Kingsley interrupted, and with a flick of his wand two chairs shuffled over to Narcissa’s right-hand side. Harry followed the Minister and sat down. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of what we’re here to discuss,” Kingsley said with a warm smile, it was not returned. 

“I suppose I do,” Narcissa replied. 

“And I suppose you know that I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think it was critically important,” Kingsley's voice was soft, somewhat forward, but it slid even under the Malfoy’s formal standards. “I am well aware this isn’t something you want. I know you’ve disregarded this offer in the past but it has come to the point that for the sake of your wellbeing...we need to arrange for you to leave Malfoy Manor until we’ve got to grips with whoever arranged this attack on you.” 

“And how long would this be for?” Narcissa asked, voice becoming cold and guarded. 

“I can’t say. I wouldn’t want to promise you anything I can’t completely guarantee. We’re doing the best we can to track Ackerly, but as it stands - he has disappeared into thin air.” 

“That’s just it, isn’t it?” Narcissa said, casting a quick glance to her son. “You can’t tell us when we’d return, and with what happened that night how can you promise that the safe house would be just that... _safe_...it could happen all over again. Forgive me for doubting you, Minister, but ‘as it stands’ we’re not entirely convinced that you’re even capable of protecting us anymore.” 

Harry looked at Kingsly to see his reaction but saw none, his face was completely passive. Instead, the Minister simply nodded, as though he was agreeing. _Yes, Ms. Malfoy, we did indeed make quite a blunder, didn’t we?_

“I’m afraid all we can do is ask that you trust us. The safehouse we previously had standing will be monitored by some of our most senior Aurors. They’ve done this job for years, never had any bad history to speak of. Our mishap with Ackerly was sheerly down to bad luck. He’d not been with us too long and we’d in no way make the mistake we made again by arranging newcomers for the job. The second place we’ve arranged is possibly one of the safest-” 

“Second?” Narcissa suddenly snapped. “What do you mean a second safe house?” 

“Ms. Malfoy, we-” 

“Are you suggesting that we be split up?” Narcissa’s voice had grown panicked, and Harry caught a flicker of concern pass over Kingsley’s face. Even he, it seemed, had misjudged just how paranoid and frightened the pair had become. Before Narcissa could continue, Draco’s voice cut through the air. 

“Mother, please let them explain.” 

Narcissa cast a slightly hurt glance over to her son, before nodding, pursing her lips as though not trusting herself to speak out again. 

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy,” Kingsley said, honestly grateful. “We have arranged two places for you to go to. We _do_ plan to separate you. The harder we make it for you to be found, the better. The harder we make it for them to get to both of you, the better. I mean it when I say we are doing everything we can to try and eliminate something like this happening again. It’s a precaution but one I think is essential, now."

Narcissa looked like she was going to be sick. She turned to Draco, her eyes pleading, but he avoided her gaze. He seemed strangely calm and it worried Harry. Draco spoke as though making up for the silence his Mother had left. “Where is this second house?” 

Kingsley turned to Harry. 

“Harry has kindly offered up Grimmauld Place for Ministry purposes. That would be the second house and Harry has also offered to be excused from his regular duties in order to monitor the place. I’m sure I don’t have to explain why Harry would be possibly the best option for that role. You both know he can be trusted but I will respect your wishes, in that regard, if you would rather we find another Auror.” 

Silence fell over the room.

It wasn’t tense, not exactly, but it felt as though Harry could hear the cogs turning like they were all beginning to realise how dire the situation had become. It looked as though Narcissa would not speak to them, not again, and Draco had looked at Harry, almost curiously, as though he was trying to figure out if this was some big joke - or if he was really trying to help.

Harry kept the gaze, almost tried to push his thoughts to the surface as though he could convey them that way. Maybe it worked. Because in the next instance, Draco was turning to Kingsley and nodding, almost to himself. 

“I suppose this is our only choice?” Draco asked.

“I’m afraid it is, Draco,” Kingsley said, somewhat sadly. 

“Do we at least get to decide where we go?” Draco said. 

“Of course. And you will have time to get your things together. We will not move Ms. Malfoy until she is completely well, also. You have time.” 

“Very well,” Draco said, looking to his Mother. “We will discuss this further.” 

Kingsley took that as his cue, and both he and Harry said their goodbyes, advising that the Minister would be back over the next week or so to finalise their arrangements. Harry left feeling as though some kind of weight had been lifted. He slept well that night. 

~-*-~

The idea that Harry would be away from the Ministry for the foreseeable future seemed to hit Ron – hard.

It hadn’t quite settled in at first. Sure, Grimmauld Place was being donated, he got that much, but it hadn’t _quite_ clicked that Harry would be stuck there with one of the Malfoys for what could be months. They'd skirted around that detail, despite it being dreadfully obvious.

The memo on Harry’s desk looked back at him - sullen as Ron’s face. 

_Harry,_

_At the end of your shift, you will be formally excused from your duties. I request that if you haven’t done so already, please arrange for your belongings to be moved over to the specified safehouse by close of play Saturday. The client will be escorted, along with their own belongings, to the location this Sunday evening._

_As discussed, I expect a weekly report to be issued, regardless of lack of activity. Please ensure that any disturbances, however small, are reported immediately and do **not** hesitate to send out a messenger spell if you so much as have a hunch that you require need backup. Many in your department will be on standby. _

_I will not bore you with further details, but if you have any questions or issues, please come see me._

_Regards,_

_Kingsley._

“Hasn’t even told me which one of them I’m getting,” Harry mumbled, almost to himself. Ron soon moved over and read the memo, despite knowing what it was about. 

“Looks like even Kingsley’s getting nervous, now,” Ron said quietly.

“What do you mean?” 

“Won’t even mention the place, never mind names. Maybe he’s starting to second guess if we rooted out all the nutcases before. You know it’s bad when even the Minister doesn’t trust the Ministry.” 

“Probably just being cautious. Wish he’d have told me who it was though, I’ve been trying to collar him all week but he’s been out nearly every day. Alice is getting sick of seeing me.” 

“Probably Narcissa. She’d feel right at home.” 

“Probably, though knowing my luck-” 

“- _Merlin_ , I hope you get Draco.” 

“Oh, charming.” 

“You’d kill each other by the end of the first night,” Ron laughed.

The noise was hollow, and Harry was beginning to worry. They’d been together on nearly every job since they started - along with Neville, too. Once Neville had left to teach back at Hogwarts there’d always been a strange feeling that _they_ should consider moving on, like they were missing something, hanging around too long.

Now Harry was going to leave Ron to his own devices, now knowing for how long. 

“You okay, mate?” Harry asked. 

“Yeah, fine. Just gunna be weird without you, is all,” Ron paused, and Harry waited, knowing something else was hovering in Ron’s mouth. “Just been wondering a lot lately, you know, whether I might be better off moving on myself soon.” 

“Not really moving on though, am I? Just gunna be away for a while.” 

“Yeah, but you know how it is. Just makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” 

Harry nodded, understanding but feeling somehow sad about it, too. Harry had hated his job for so long, but somehow change was always too frightening to comprehend against it. As he left that night, he had a strong suspicion Ron wouldn’t be there when he eventually came back. His idle talks about helping George with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes seemed a lot more real now, less like small talk. 

Harry moved most of his stuff that night, not daring to ask Ron or Hermione for help, especially with the sad smile Ron had given him before clocking out that day. It really did feel like things were changing, like the wind had changed directions.

After the war, they’d all been so caught up in the mayhem that it had never settled in like it would have done if they’d have left Hogwarts under normal circumstances. No scared farewells, no wondering whether they’d keep in touch or drift apart, it had been fight after fight after fight. Now it seemed as though things were settling around Harry while he kept moving, _fidgeting,_ utterly unsure of himself and his future. 

Harry waited, restless, for Sunday evening to arrive.

He’d cleaned the house almost obsessively, as though he was expecting guests and nothing more. He wondered in those quiet moments where there was nothing more to be done how Narcissa would feel being back here, knowing she’d have memories hiding in these walls somewhere. He wondered how much he’d have to avoid her presence, scared of offending or upsetting her. When he finally heard movement in the hall Sunday evening, luggage being placed down and quiet voices drifting out towards him, he felt an odd kind of relief, like he’d been pent up about Narcissa’s arrival for months, rather than hours. 

Harry had convinced himself so well that it would be Narcissa arriving, that when he caught sight of Draco he very nearly tripped up over his own feet. 

“Evening, Potter,” Draco said, the tiniest of smirks tugging at his lips.


	7. Something Like Hope

Draco’s cocky and arrogant demeanour faded once Kingsley was done escorting him to Grimmauld Place.

The Minister left the pair with a simple reminder - that he was but a spell away if needed. It seemed to ruin Draco’s mask, and Harry’s confusion ebbed away with it. He didn’t so much as get out another word before Kingsley turned on his heels and disappeared from where he came.

The smirk faded, silence fell, and Draco looked incredibly small under the high ceilings of the house, a suitcase still clutched in one hand. Harry didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how he should act. They hadn’t talked much at all since his outburst at St. Mungo's and he was still reeling from the fact that it wasn’t Narcissa standing there. He decided to say as much, testing the waters.

“I honestly thought your Mum would have decided to come here, she’d be familiar with the place, wouldn’t she?” 

Draco’s bright eyes snapped to Harry’s, as though he’d been lost in his own thoughts, he frowned a little. “I doubt my Mother cared too much, and it’s not like I haven’t been here before, anyway.” 

“You would have been young, though.” 

“I suppose. Are we going to stand in the hallway all night or can I unpack my things?” 

That cold voice was back again, clipped, his thoughts hiding away unspoken. Harry decided not to anger Draco any further, determined this time to cool his annoyance and at least try to make the other’s stay as pain-free as possible. How difficult that would be, only time would tell. Harry ignored the other’s irked expression as he grabbed for the rest of his bags, making his way up the stairs quickly.

“Choice is yours for the rooms, I guess,” Harry mumbled as he struggled with the other man’s belongings. Draco was so quiet Harry had to cast a look back to make sure he was there and following him. “I’ve kind of already set up in this room, but...” 

Harry trailed off, setting the bags down in the hallway and looking to Draco, waiting for him to peek past the doors, secretly expecting Draco’s nose to wrinkle up at each one. The house was probably in the best shape it had been in years, but it was still by no means presentable. For a moment, Draco hovered, looking lost, before he finally cast a glance into Harry’s room. 

“What a shame, I’d had my eye on that room in particular.” 

The cogs in Harry’s head turned, apparently very rusty, because it took him far longer than it should have to grasp the dry attempt at humour. It was only after he spoke that he realised the silence had gone on for way too long.

“Was that a joke, Malfoy?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m capable of a few.” 

His voice was suddenly quiet, almost shy. Before Harry could comment on it again, Draco was darting into the room opposite Harry’s own, his eyes raking over the dark wood furniture and badly made bed. His nose didn’t wrinkle as Harry expected, but he didn’t look impressed, either. It was better than nothing, Harry thought. 

“This will do, I suppose. I’ll start unpacking.” Draco mumbled.

Harry watched, awkwardly, as Draco took the remainder of his bags, barely registering the flick of Draco’s wrist, idly taking in how his belongings began to arrange themselves in the room, piece by piece. After a moment, Draco turned to him, his eyes curious and distantly amused. Harry found himself flushing, knowing he was acting odd. 

“Um, the bathroom’s just down the hall...have you eaten? I could-” 

“I’ll be fine, Potter,” Draco said, curtly. 

Harry nodded, staring at the floor for a second before briskly walking away. He thought he heard Draco mutter something that sounded like a lot like ‘thank you’, but shook it off, knowing he can’t have heard right.

There was absolutely no way Draco Malfoy would thank _him_ of all people.

~-*-~

Harry woke up at the crack of dawn, having slept terribly all night. It was strange. He thought having someone else in the house might have been soothing, but his ears had been hypersensitive to noise, trying to figure out if the sound was simply the house settling, Draco moving around in the night, or an intruder. It was ridiculous to think the latter, but Harry wouldn’t be surprised either way.

It had been an odd couple of months for him.

Eventually, he gave up on sleep, slipping on some worn jeans and a tattered charcoal jumper that Molly had knitted for him a couple of Christmases ago. Ron still always apologized when he received them, but Harry deep down loved them – he was especially thankful for them now - the entire house always seemed icy cold. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging out a few weak knots that did nothing to smooth it out at all, before slipping the door open. 

A crack of sunlight was creeping down the hallway, dust floating in the golden glow. Harry was always fond of the silence of mornings, finding that his tired, anxious mind was instantly soothed just by walking down the stairs, knowing the place would brighten up soon, that night had passed by without something horrible happening. 

The feeling was soon ruined by a sudden _screeching_ litany of insults. 

_“Traitor! Filth!”_

Harry swore, loud and vicious, covering his ears instinctively against Walburga’s mad ravings. He flung himself down the last few steps, shouting angrily to himself. 

“How the bloody _hell_ have these things come undone _again_!” 

Harry groped aimlessly for his wand to seal the curtains shut again, realising with a pang that he’d left it upstairs on the nightstand in his groggy state. He was about to wrench the curtains shut and pray that the portrait shut up when the cloth flung itself together in one swift movement, the seams shimmering for a moment. Harry stared, dumbfounded, until he heard a couple of tentative steps behind him. Harry gazed up, bemused, as he took in the sight of an exceptionally ruffled and drowsy Malfoy. 

“Is that how you wake up all of your guests?” Draco said, deadpan, voice gravelly with exhaustion.

The blonde was clearly annoyed, but the tone was dulled slightly, sleep still thick in his throat. Harry felt his shoulders relax as Walburga’s shouts turned to a frustrated muttering behind the darkness of the material. A rush of cool relief ran through him before his cheeks heated up again. It was... _strange_ not seeing Draco dressed up in a stiff suit with painfully neat hair. It had all been traded for something foreign. Draco’s hair was longer than Harry had first thought, sticking up in mad tufts that would make his expression kind of funny if Harry wasn’t still scared of pissing him off. Even in his annoyance, his face was relaxed and somewhat unguarded, almost handsome without the ingrained scowl. 

“Merlin, no. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone...curtain keeps coming undone,” Harry said, sheepishly.

“Surely the great _Harry Potter_ can manage a simple sticking charm once in a while?” 

Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes and was about to fire back when he noticed Draco making his way back upstairs, absently running a hand through his messy hair. It was then Harry realised he genuinely couldn’t understand if Draco was trying to annoy him, or if his sense of humour was so incredibly dry it went right over Harry’s head and started pushing his buttons. 

He stood there for what felt like an age until he heard Draco’s door click shut. 

~-*-~

The rooms were silent for the next few days. 

Harry had begun to wonder if Draco was even eating. Hell, if Draco was still even _in_ the same _building_ as him, because he’d hardly caught sight of the man. The only solace he had was hearing the bathroom door open and shut on the odd night, occasionally hearing the man pottering around in his room. It was becoming strangely clear to him just how reclusive Draco was. Harry found himself getting antsy, having seen no other soul in days, but Malfoy seemed more than happy to hide away in his room like a prisoner, probably etching a tally onto one of the walls – counting down the days until he could return to the Manor. 

Harry was almost, _almost,_ excited when he came downstairs late one morning only to find Draco in the kitchen, examining a chipped mug while the kettle whistled angrily on the stove. Harry must have been creeping like a mouse, a habit he’d been hard put to drop even after all the years away from the Dursleys because Draco near enough jumped out of his skin when Harry spoke. 

“Morning-” 

Draco half slammed, half dropped the mug onto the counter and whirled around, his hand nearly at his wand. Harry was honest to God surprised the mug didn’t crack straight down the middle and that he wasn’t halfway across the room from a Knockback Jinx already.

“ _Christ_ , Potter,” Draco snapped. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” 

“Sorry, I didn’t realise I couldn’t speak to you.” 

Draco huffed, turning his back on Harry and busying himself with finding a mug that wasn’t quite so broken, beginning to make himself a cup of tea in a rush. Harry really couldn’t help but feel disheartened. He was going to go mad if he couldn’t so much as ease a slight bit of conversation out of the man. He knew he wouldn’t be able to leave Draco unattended for long periods just to see his friends, and right then he didn’t think it wise to invite Ron or Hermione over, not if Draco was going to continue to do his best impression of a brick wall.

“ _Sorry_ , I didn’t realise I came here to be your _roommate_ ,” Draco muttered.

“It’s not quite like that, is it?” Harry grumbled. “We could at least be civil while you’re here.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, _Potter_. Shall I start up some small talk? How’s the weather today? Personally, I haven’t been out to know. _Actually,_ I might not get out for the next _century_ the way things have been going. I would tell you how my mother’s getting on, but I haven’t the _foggiest_ where _she’s_ been sent off to-” Draco rattled on, not trusting himself to look at the other man on the off chance he decided to kill him. Instead, he busied himself, almost comically annoyed, with his drink.

“-for Merlin’s sake, I would have thought even _you_ would have grown up by now, Malfoy. I’m not asking for pleasantries-” Harry said.

“-then what _are_ you asking for?” Draco snapped, and suddenly Harry was reeling from the steely grey eyes burning into him like dry ice. 

The words mulled and whirled in Harry’s head, bouncing between the angry, petty little insults waiting to surface on his tongue. He couldn’t believe how quickly Draco could go from quiet and reclusive to acting like he wanted to rip Harry’s throat out. He wasn’t asking for much. Asking for civil conversation while they spent what could be a year or more together – was _definitely_ not too much.

He bit back the anger, felt it rise, bit it back again. When Harry spoke, it was with gritted teeth. “Look, all I’m trying to say is we’re going to be here for a while...I don’t know about you, but I _will_ lose my marbles if I have to spend day and night creeping around my own house, not saying a word.” 

“Unfortunately, I’ve learned to enjoy my own company far too much to bother with _you_. I don't suppose _Perfect Potter_ would understand.” Draco shot forward, barging past Harry and not seeming to notice as scalding hot tea dripped past his fingers.

In desperation, Harry reached out a hand and pressed it lightly to Draco’s shoulder. For a second, everything seemed to freeze. Draco tensed but didn’t say a word. Harry could feel the tension rising, ready to snap. He felt like eggshells were conjuring themselves right under his feet. It felt like the first time he met _Buckbeak_. Terrified...hopeful...knowing one wrong move might ruin everything. 

“I’m...look, Malfoy, I’m sorry you have to be here...but I don’t want to have to live like we’re still just old enemies at school. I’m not _trying_ to piss you off-” 

“-you’re doing a grand job of it anyway, I can tell you that much.” 

Harry dropped his hand, losing confidence, and Draco’s expression seemed to soften for a moment. He couldn’t bear to stare Harry in the eyes for some reason, he glared straight ahead towards the staircase as though it might animate and swallow him up. Harry let out a sharp sigh, shaking his head and backing away. 

“Fine, do what you want. Makes no difference to me, anyway.” 

The words hit Draco’s stomach like a lead weight and he almost wished he could force himself to be more rational, more _reasonable_ , that somehow Harry would understand what he was feeling without him having to utter a word. Instead, he let old habits rise and take over, grimacing and storming away.

Just before he got to the stairs, he smashed the mug on the floor, muttering a bitter and sarcastic ‘ _oops_ ’ before he made his way back to his room. It was completely childish. _Bratty_ , nearly. He could feel Harry’s eyes burning holes into his back all the way up the stairs. Later that afternoon, Harry rapped noisily on the door and told Draco he was going out for an hour or so. 

Draco didn’t say a word. 

~-*-~

“I’m gunna lose it already.” 

“Harry, it’s only been a few days…” Hermione’s face was both equal parts amused and concerned as she handed a drink over to Harry. She tried to make her expression lean further towards concerned – because she could feel Harry’s frustration rising into the air like a storm.

“Yeah, and it feels like an age has gone by already. I nearly went into the Ministry myself and told Kingsley to stuff it.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes, perching herself on the edge of her chair and leaning towards Harry, sniffling absently. She was wrapped in a blanket that looked suspiciously like Molly’s handiwork. It was becoming an ongoing joke that Molly would knit them sets of furniture if she could.

Guilt kept nipping at Harry’s heels – Hermione wasn’t well and had all but been hassled to take the day off from the Ministry. Harry hadn’t expected anyone to be home at all, had just needed to get out of Grimmauld place, but Hermione had been straight to the door, her nose pink and eyes tired, still more than happy to let him in. 

“It’ll just take him time to adjust, that’s all. There’s no point getting your back up about it...or his, he’ll be stressed enough.” 

“It’s just a _house_ , Hermione, I’ve not asked him to chop one of his legs off. It’s only temporary, anyway,” Harry explained.

“Yes, but he’s been more than used to being alone all this time. Now he’s been uprooted out of his family home, separated from his mother who’s been his only source of company for heaven knows how long…he probably thinks you find it all hilarious, too,” Hermione reasoned.

“Why would I find it funny?” Harry said, furrowing his brow. 

“Why wouldn’t you? _Look_ , Draco clearly thinks there’s still a hell of a lot of bad blood between you both, and after what you pulled at St Mungo’s-” 

“Hermione, come on-” 

“ _-shh._ After what you pulled, he probably thinks you find it funny that he’s taken a...fall from grace, so to speak. You might think it’s going to be hard to live with him, but for him, it’s probably like torture.” 

Harry took a moment to take a drink, thinking, before shaking his head. “I cannot believe you’re sympathising with him. Did I tell you what he did before I came here?” 

“You did, Harry.” 

“Well, you can’t have heard me, he-” 

“You _definitely_ told me, Harry.” 

“-smashed a _mug_ on the floor. He’s an overgrown child-” 

“Oh, _Harry_ ,” Hermione sighed. “You’re not exactly mature sometimes yourself!” She snapped, her illness suddenly getting the better of her. She was tired and irritable and wished, for once, Harry wouldn’t be so _dense_.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked, voice incredulous. 

“You’re not exactly opposed to giving low blows yourself- don't look at me like _that_. You’re both as bad as each other, you always have been. _God_ , even when men get older they’re absolutely _useless_ with their feelings.” 

Harry put his empty cup down on the side table next to the sofa, decidedly rough, and suffered Hermione’s glare for it. He hastily placed it on top of a coaster. They were both butting heads out of frustration, and though he knew nothing particularly nasty would come of it – he was far too tired to get into an argument with Hermione as well. 

“Alright. What do you suggest then?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Harry said. “What the hell can I do to make it so living with Malfoy won’t suck the soul out of me? The way the Ministry has been on this case, he might very well be at Grimmauld place forever, and _I_ might go round the twist after another day.” 

Hermione sighed again. “Give him _space..._ and some time. If he wants to be alone, let him, but make yourself available for if he does want to talk. God…I don’t know, if you’re making a drink – offer him one, but don’t get all offended if he tells you to bugger off.” 

“Great, so the key to being on good terms with Malfoy is making him tea. I can’t wait to be his house-elf.” 

“You are honestly starting to sound just like him- don't you _dare_ throw that cushion.” 

Harry returned the cushion with a slight smirk, rubbing a hand across his tired eyes and letting out a deep breath. “It’s just all so stupid,” Harry said, voice muffled as he rubbed his face as though trying to massage his anger away.

“I agree.” 

“You’ve got such a short temper when you’re ill, Hermione.” 

“Well, wouldn’t you? My nose is like a tap and you’re sat here lamenting about not being able to get on Draco’s good side, if I didn’t know any better I’d think you were trying to ask him on a date the way you're waffling on.” 

“ _That_ is too far.” 

Hermione waved a hand in front of her, dismissing him and rolling her eyes. “Harry, I love you dearly, but I need some rest. I want to be able to go back to work tomorrow. Trust me on this, it’s been a few days, he’ll relax eventually just don’t pester him so much. Just...try and put yourself in his shoes.” 

Harry nodded, knowing she was right but failing to see how he could ever make living with Draco bearable. Every option seemed bizarre. Being civil, Harry could do. Being _nice_ to Draco, he doubted anyone could manage, let alone _him_. He gave Hermione a hug before he left, apologising for bothering her while she was sick, made one last attempt to convince her to take the rest of the week off rather than drag herself back to work – knowing it was futile. 

~-*-~

The first thing Harry noticed when he returned to Grimmauld place – was that something was missing. 

The mug Draco had purposely dropped had vanished, and for a moment Harry put it down Draco deciding he didn’t want to scuff his shoes or cut himself by leaving it there. But, when Harry sluggishly wandered into the kitchen – the mug was sat there, innocently, all in one piece. Still chipped like most of his crockery, but back together in one piece. For a while, he couldn’t decide what else was amiss - but then he noticed how clean and tidy the kitchen was. 

It struck Harry somewhere.

It wasn’t guilt...wasn’t happiness...it was thankful, almost? He desperately tried to drown the little voice in his head that kept suggesting Draco only did it because he was probably a neat freak, probably hated filth and mess and didn’t want to seem as low as Harry as to leave the place a state. Harry decided to grab it like a peace offering despite the annoying doubt. 

He had no idea how Draco took his tea but tried either way. After a quick heating charm, Harry headed upstairs. He couldn’t hear a thing behind Draco’s bedroom door but knocked regardless. Nothing. He had expected as much. After a moment waiting, he grabbed his wand again until the cup was hovering just a step away from the door, hoping the charm didn’t wear off before Draco emerged from the room. 

Harry went back downstairs, hoping to relax in the sitting room for a while and mull over his conversation with Hermione, perhaps write his report in advance for Kingsley. He pretended not to notice when he heard the door upstairs creak open. 

~-*-~

Draco didn’t know what he’d been expecting when he opened the door, but it certainly wasn’t a floating cup of tea. 

His sour mood lifted just a fraction, and he quickly raised a hand to his mouth to stifle a laugh – it was an odd habit he’d picked up over the past few years, as though ashamed to show happiness when everything else around him was such a mess.

Draco tried to tell himself it would have been a bitter laugh, a laugh that was amused at Potter’s ridiculous gesture, that he didn’t care enough to want to accept this feeble apology and would only take the drink to keep Potter quiet for once. He kept telling himself this as he grabbed for the mug, lukewarm, and took a small sip of the drink. He grimaced. No sugar...and the heating charm had been poor at best. 

Draco retreated into the room, drink in hand, and couldn’t decide if he found the _gesture_ funny, or the whole situation to begin with. Before he knew it, the drink had gone, and again he told himself that it was only because he didn’t want to have to go downstairs and run the risk of bumping into that imbecile again. He ignored how the day seemed to pass by a little quicker, no longer dragged down and slowed by his frustrated thoughts. 

It most _definitely_ hadn’t cheered him up... absolutely _not._

~-*-~

The days crawled by, leisurely and unhurried, and what had started as a tense and seemingly impossible way to live, had slowly fizzled away to a number of awkward yet civil conversations as Harry and Draco passed each other on the stairs or anxiously worked around each other in the kitchen.

Slowly but surely, Harry learned that Draco liked his tea strong but sweet, and Draco reluctantly discovered that Harry preferred his toast almost burnt to a crisp ( _the heathen_ ). Harry respected Draco’s space, and Draco in return _occasionally_ decided to leave the comfort of his room and show Potter he’d not, in fact, died in the middle of the night and was rotting away in bed.

Harry had never expected miracles, but this seemed as close to one as he could hope for.

Things had calmed down. Draco still shot the occasional bitter remark, sometimes didn’t even return those small, peace-making gestures seemingly out of spite - but there were no arguments, no glares, no curses under each other's breath. Harry kept trying to remind himself to thank Hermione, yet again, but somehow didn’t want to give her the satisfaction after all the fuss he’d made before. 

It was Draco that broke the routine one morning.

Harry had sleepily wandered into the kitchen for breakfast, not surprised at the lack of a drink or slice of toast or some similar offering that Draco seemed to forget, as though he was breaking their unwritten rule of ‘getting along’ because he didn’t want Harry thinking he was getting soft, or weak-willed. It was only when Harry jumped at the sound of Draco clearing his throat that he realised what had happened. 

Malfoy didn’t quite catch Harry’s eye as he offered out the mug in his hand, but Harry didn’t comment on it. 

“My fingers are burning, you know,” Draco muttered. 

“Oh! Sorry...” 

“There’s some breakfast in the dining room,” Draco said, and the words hung for a moment as he tried to think of what else to say. It was embarrassing, but he’d almost forgotten how to even continue a conversation anymore. “There’s plenty,” He ended, lamely, thinking it was possibly the most subtle and painful invitation he’d ever given. 

Draco was almost bowled over when Harry suddenly grinned, wide and warm and charming...as though Draco had just offered him the entire Malfoy fortune and a unicorn to boot. Harry thanked him and followed Draco into the dining room like it was the most exciting event he’d had all month. Which in reality...probably wasn’t far off. 

They ate in relative silence. Draco glued his eyes to the book he’d brought down with him but found he couldn’t even get past the first page, his mind seemed to wander in every direction, miles away from the words on the page. Every now and then, Harry would mumble some inane comment. Draco pretended to find it quite annoying, but there was something he liked about it. 

He’d never in a million years call Potter a friend, but it was comforting to have that illusion - like he was returning to some normality. Like he hadn’t been cooped up in the Manor since the end of his schooling days, only his mother’s melancholy as a form of companionship. He loved her to death, would do anything for her, but they’d played so horribly well into each other’s misery. 

Draco pretended he was only just discovering now that having some contact with the outside world, with other people, would have done them a world of good. Deep down, he’d known it all along but had been too terrified to make the change. Routine guaranteed everything. Change promised nothing at all. 

“Did you hear me?” 

“What?” Draco asked, voice clipped but lacking its usual venom. 

“I said, I sent a message out to Kingsley a day or two ago, asking if it might be alright if we get out of the house for short periods of time. It’s not normal...well, I mean, it’s not good to be stuck in all day, is it?” 

Draco stared at Potter, somewhat confused, before turning slightly concerned. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. I don’t mind if _you_ want to escape for a while, but-” 

“What do you mean?” 

“God, Potter, don’t you ever let anyone finish their sentences?” 

Harry rolled his eyes and Draco let it pass...just this once.

“I don’t think it’ll be a good idea,” Draco continued. “Because in case you haven’t noticed the general public rather hates me. Plus, I thought the whole idea was to keep me hidden away, not put me out in plain sight to get hexed to hell and back. Are you sure Kingsley even authorised it? Seems to me they’d be putting the public at risk as well.” 

“That’s the thing, though. I doubt you’d get attacked in plain sight...we’d only be out for an hour, not even _that_ if you don’t want. We can test the waters a bit. Busy, public place...if you got attacked in the middle of Diagon Alley I’d eat my wand…there’s not enough of them to even risk it, _surely_. We’d just need to make sure we apparate in a safe area. It’s always a risk...sure...but, well, things have been quiet...” 

“I still don’t think it’s wise. Regardless, it’s not the Death Eaters I’d be worried about half the time.” 

“I...Malfoy, come _on_ , do you honestly think I’d just stand there if people started on you?” 

“My hero,” Draco drawled.

Harry had learnt well enough not to bite, just scoff at the comment. “Look, it’s just an idea, anyway. I’m not gunna drag you out.” 

“As though you could.” 

“Is that a bet?” 

Draco looked back up from his book, eyebrow quirked. Before he knew it, Harry started to laugh, as though he’d been starved from doing it and just couldn’t stop even over the most stupid comment. It was contagious. Draco found that he began laughing as well, covering his mouth with one hand. He absolutely did not laugh first, absolutely did not feel himself flushing under the warm, amused gaze Harry gave him – as though Potter had forgotten completely who he was – eventually looking away as though embarrassed. 

Draco mulled over the question all day, a mix of anxiety and excitement thrumming through his bones and head and heart. He wanted to go out. _Desperately_. Some part of him was screaming to leave the safety of all these walls and just... _breathe_.

But that scared side of him was scrambling for purchase, trying its best to pull him back. Draco played the conversation they’d had in his head repeatedly. He remembered how full of life Harry had looked when he laughed, how excited he’d been at telling Draco about his idea. 

Something fluttered in Draco’s stomach and he turned onto his side in bed, clutching at one pillow and desperately trying to rationalise his thoughts, continually trying to ignore the feeling that was skittering around in his body. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it kept him awake for longer than he wanted to. As he finally began to drift off into a deep sleep, he realised what it might be. 

It felt a little bit like hope. 


	8. Warming Up

Harry ran a hand across his jawline, noting distantly how he might need to shave soon, but most of his attention on the fact that he couldn’t _quite_ put his finger on what was out of place today. It wasn’t like he didn’t already _know_ what had happened, it was what had happened in _particular_ he was trying to figure out still. He stood there in an old shirt and some boxers, sleep still clinging to the corners of his eyes, staring around the room like he’d been hit by a bludger. 

The change was that the living room looked decidedly cleaner, decidedly more _vibrant_ , like it had been all but injected with just a little bit of life and normality. It had been happening quite slowly. Some dusting here and there, some wood getting polished, knickknacks rearranged, pictures straightened (some of them just covered up altogether.) For a while, Harry had honest to God wondered if a house-elf hadn’t somehow snuck in and was trying to renovate. 

He soon realised that if there _was_ a house-elf in Grimmauld Place – and its name was Draco Malfoy. Whether it was out of guilt or boredom or simply because Draco couldn’t stand the sight of the house as it was, he’d taken it upon himself to keep changing things in the house, cleaning, rearranging, to the point where Harry would just be getting used to where a chair was placed, before turning up the next morning and stubbing his toe on it, cursing himself into next week. 

Harry thought it was probably boredom, especially as Harry had been slowly called out more and more times to the office, like the Ministry was beginning to slacken its hold on the whole Malfoy case entirely - more likely just understaffed. It was never anything big, never took too long, but it irked Harry how everyone seemed to be forgetting already what had happened. Either way, Harry liked to think the cleaning was Draco’s way of holding peace between them, a silent gesture that said _“look, I’m not a **complete** git” _while Harry keeping his distance whispered, _“look, I’m not **completely** tactless.” _

“Christ, Potter, is it so hard to get dressed on a morning?” Draco mumbled as he sauntered into the living room, expertly avoiding an armchair that Harry could have sworn was up against the opposite wall a day before. 

“About as hard as it is for you to find some manners, clearly,” Harry yawned, no heat behind the words, running a hand through his hair and finally moving to settle down on the sofa, most likely to doze until Draco nagged enough to keep him awake. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to keep looking around the room for anything else that had been changed overnight. 

The silence that settled over the pair in their drowsiness reminded Harry how Draco hadn’t yet talked to him again about the idea of leaving the house. Not even for an hour or so, just to get some fresh air the very least. Harry had the sneaking suspicion it was due to more than a little fright, but he was doing as Hermione had constantly advised. Give him time. Let him mull it over. Let _him_ make the decision. Don’t force change. So far, Harry had to say he was doing rather well, but it was quiet, listless moments like these that made him wonder if Draco would ever get the courage to try and go outside. 

He had to admit it wasn’t exactly the best time to try and bring Draco out of his shell, though. But it wasn’t as though it would have been remotely normal for him to have turned up at the Manor before these troubles started, like a child asking if their friend could come out to play for a little while. The idea made Harry snort a small laugh to himself, and Draco cocked an eyebrow and glared over at him. 

“I can’t decide if you’re choking in your sleep or if it’s your life’s purpose to be irritating.” 

“Probably a little bit of both, to be fair.” 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

Harry laughed again, low and relaxed, letting the silence settle back over them like a warm blanket. He couldn’t quite remember when their shared silence had stopped being awkward. Everything was unwritten between them. No talking, no noting things casually just to get them out in the air, everything was just a subtle understanding - or a stubborn compromise. Still, Harry couldn’t help but be happy that the venom behind it had weakened, watered down and mostly harmless. 

Whether Harry knew he was going to willingly poke a snake’s nest that morning was a mystery - but do it he did. “Malfoy?” 

“Hm?” 

“Have you had anymore thought about what I said? About getting out for an hour, just some fresh air?” 

Harry didn’t get a response for a long time, and when he finally opened his eyes and turned his head towards the armchair Draco had all but claimed possession of, he noticed in quick succession the worry in Draco’s eyes, and the heat in his face as he turned away. 

“I’ve been mulling over it, I suppose,” Draco said, voice careful and quiet.

“Are you going to let me in on what that thought process has entailed, or am I pushing my luck?” Harry hoped his quiet tone worked well enough to ensure Draco didn’t get prickly again, and it seemed to do the trick.

Draco let out a tired sigh. “You’re always pushing your luck.” 

“Shame, that.” 

“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” 

Harry shuffled further up the sofa, his shirt riding up for a moment. He didn’t turn in time to see Draco’s eyes wash over him, equal parts confused and flustered, but he did notice how on edge Malfoy was getting. 

“Look, you can calm down, I’m not going to force you. Just thought I’d mention it, so you know the offer is still there-” 

“That’s...the problem,” Draco said.

Harry noticed the almost childlike anxiety bubbling up in the other’s face, and he could tell he was trying to hide it from showing – and failing. Harry didn’t say another word, but he did sit up fully, leaning forward onto his knees, trying to show he was listening rather than clog up Draco’s thoughts with even more words. Harry watched as Draco closed his book, setting it down on the dark wood coffee table in front of him, running a hand across his eyes. 

“I _want_ to go out, I really do. But it’s just...it’s not that simple, is it?” Draco said.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 

“It’s...” Draco interrupted himself with a frustrated sigh, clearly trying to find a way not to discuss the whole thing, but at the same time knowing he had to if he wanted to keep the peace. “I can’t remember the last time I went _anywhere_ public. I can’t remember the last time I even felt like I wanted to. And I don’t quite care what the Minister says – I don’t think it’s safe. Not at all. If they can’t get to me or my mother somewhere remote, after a while they _will_ get desperate. And what would be better than blowing a Malfoy to smithereens in public? Merlin, I reckon everyone would be happy then.” 

“Dra-” Harry caught himself. “Malfoy, come on. People forget, people stop caring, some of them even have the brain cells to be forgiving once in a while. It won’t be so bad.” 

“Perhaps not, but my survival instinct is stronger than my need to stretch my legs, I’m afraid.” 

“You’ll end up a cripple stuck in here all day. Or mad.” Harry said, trying to convince the other.

“I think I was already mad choosing to come here.” 

Harry felt a question rising up on his tongue and couldn’t stop it – didn't want to. “Why _did_ you choose to come here?” 

“Pardon?” Draco said, his voice becoming suspicious. 

“Why didn’t you pick the other safe house? Why here?” 

Draco, for a moment, almost looked bashful, and Harry couldn’t help but find something almost endearing about it. He didn’t think he’d get an answer, not after that reaction but, eventually, Draco grabbed his book again and pulled his gaze away, voice mumbling when he next spoke. 

“It was familiar.” 

“What, the house?” Harry questioned.

“God, you’re dense sometimes,” Draco said, but he was smiling now, not embarrassed at all. 

Harry’s eyes seemed to have a mind of their own, flickering over the expression, finding that he was mimicking the smile himself. There was something very serene about it, coming from someone that Harry had only ever really seen smirking, furious or scared. “Go on then, tell me in simple terms,” Harry said, holding back a laugh. 

“You. It’s familiar being around you,” A pause. “Will you _please_ stop smirking at me, you idiot.” 

Harry had to desperately bite back a grin. He didn’t know why the words were making him so giddy. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve always got the impression you’re not _entirely_ fond of me.” 

“I’m not, so don’t let that head of yours get any bigger.” 

“Alright, then, so-” 

“Look, half of my time at school was spent getting into spats with you. Sometimes having a disagreement with someone is better than being sat in silence all day, okay?” 

“How sweet.” 

“I take it back, living with you is hell on earth. You’re _insufferable_.” 

Harry pushed himself up from the sofa, chuckling to himself, deciding he’d had enough probing into Draco’s brain for one day. He should probably get ready before it rolled into the afternoon. “Charming, love you too, Malfoy.” Harry laughed, smiling to himself.

Draco’s face burned at the joke, and he tried his best to hide away into the armchair and disappear back into his own head. The sound of Harry cursing and catching his hip on the table he’d moved out in the hallway forced a laugh out of him. He covered his mouth lightly with his hand, as though willing the sounds away. 

~-*-~

Harry wasn’t fond of waking up.

He was also not fond of being woken up to loud noises, either. Probably his least favourite was angry, urgent knocking against his bedroom door, for more than a few obvious reasons. So, when Harry was all but dragged out of his sleep in a panic, hearing someone rapping at the door like their life depended on it, he all but fell out of bed and lurched for the door. 

He didn’t expect to see Draco an inch from his face and tried to remember _when_ _exactly _he'd gotten so much taller than the blonde. Something in him rose from beneath his tired thoughts, but he avoided clinging on to the feeling. Harry refused to admit that the sheepish yet determined look on Draco’s face that morning, coupled with the sudden realisation of their height different, mixed in with the fact that Draco looked distinctly _ruffled_ and tired and human – was not somehow sweet like his brain seemed to scream it was. 

“Listen to me, Potter-” 

“Malfoy, what on Earth are you do-” 

“I said _listen_ ,” Draco snapped, taking in a deep breath. “Because if I think about this any longer, I’ll refuse, and we’ll be stuck in this dreadful house for the next year.” 

Harry blinked owlishly down at Draco, one eyebrow cocked, and he noticed for a moment how Draco’s eyes seemed to become distant for a minute as they locked with his, before looking slightly panicked and casting his eyes to the side. His frantic speech resumed shortly after. 

“Even _I_ can admit I don’t want to be stuck in here every minute of the day, but I want to make sure we garner as little attention as possible. I do _not_ want a scene, I expect us to take every single necessary measure to avoid _anything_ frightful happening, and if I want to leave after five minutes – we _leave_.” 

Draco took in a deep breath through his nose, as though he’d used every single bit of oxygen to blurt out his plans as quickly as possible. He lifted his gaze and stared at Harry intently, who looked nothing short of dumbfounded. 

“Sure, whatever you want, Draco,” Harry mumbled, using the back of his hand to rub a tired eye, yawning deeply. 

Draco’s ruler-straight back slumped slightly, relaxing, and his face softened from its almost angry appearance beforehand. “Excellent. I expect us to leave in half an hour.” 

“You’re having a laugh, surely?” 

Draco was about to turn away but paused, glaring. 

“Don’t give me that look,” Harry muttered. 

“What look _exactly_?” 

“ _That_ one! I swear you look on the verge of punching me every time I open my bloody mouth.” 

“That’s because I _am_.” 

“Merlin, calm down...I’m getting ready.” 

“Really, because it looks like you’re standing around like some great _lump_.” 

“Well, unless you want to watch me change, I’d bugger off for two minutes and then I’d be _able_ to get ready.” 

Harry watched as Draco rolled his eyes and stormed downstairs, grinning as he heard those measured steps fade away into the living room. It didn’t take him long to get dressed, and in honesty he rushed around, not wanting to keep Draco waiting and to let him get even more worked up. When Harry returned downstairs, Draco was biting at one of his nails, glancing up guiltily before heading out with Harry into the corridor. 

As they reached the front door, Draco slowed down and stopped.

Harry didn’t say much, didn’t want to patronise or pretend he knew how bad things had gotten for Draco mentally. He could see the panic etched on his face, would respect him backing away and hiding in his room, but inside he was unbelievably proud when Draco took a step forward. Harry put a hand to Draco’s shoulder and squeezed, smiling gently and nodding. The other man didn’t respond, seemed to be battling very hard with his thoughts, but nodded back all the same. 

They apparated, and Harry’s hand stayed where it was a little too long to be casual.

~-*-~

Draco was nearly faint with how nice it felt to be outside.

It was still a touch cold and he felt his angular features catch the chill instantly, but he could feel the heat of Harry's hand on his shoulder and didn't even think to question how good it felt to have that contact, and didn't even curse himself for not shrugging it off. Instead, he looked around at the quiet street they'd apparated to, no doubt a fair walk from any wizarding community, but that suited him just fine.

They could just...walk. Enjoy the air, enjoy the _freedom_ without anyone to stare and point and whisper angrily. And again, Draco couldn't even scald himself for thinking how good it felt knowing that someone was with him. That Harry was with him. Because for all their bickering and emotional bruises they'd given to each other over the years, he would be stupid to think that Harry wouldn't defend him if it came to that. Whether it was that ghastly hero complex or no - it was a safety net.

Draco found that he was both overjoyed and incredibly sad because although this first step felt wonderful, it reminded him how much he'd always wanted that kind of companionship in his life. He'd never really wanted friendships forged on mutual hate and ingrained discrimination. All he'd really wanted were people to have his back, even in the darkest of times.

After a moment, his thoughts whirling madly around his head, he could feel himself tearing up. He caught it just in time to stop the tears falling, berating himself for getting so wound up over something so small, but his eyes still filled and he had no doubt that Harry could see.

Nothing was said about it.

Instead, Harry squeezed his shoulder again and slowly, cautiously, moved the hand to the top of his back and ran his hand there for a moment, before dropping the touch. It was another unspoken thing, not about making do or proving a point, but a genuine comfort. It was all Draco needed to know. That Harry wasn't judging, that he might not understand completely but he knew why it was hard, that he was still there and would continue to be.

"Shall we have a walk?"

Draco nodded, a little stiff, but followed as Harry took the lead, their eyes cast down and not too much said between them after that. When the silence settled over again, Draco muttered a small 'thank you'.

Harry heard it - and smiled.

~-*-~

Another routine was made.

Just like all the others, it was never spoken about, but it fell into line with their lives as though it had always been a rule. Just like they'd never talked about taking turns making breakfast, or who had to clean which rooms, or who decided what they would have for tea each night. It was now just a given that so long as Harry was free, they'd make a point of going outside for a walk, whether it be for five minutes or an hour.

Some days, Draco found he wasn't up to it at all, and all it took was a quick glance between them and Harry nodded and smiled, and Draco would go back to reading or cleaning or cooking. Some days, Harry decided he wanted to go see Ron and Hermione or visit the Burrow or go out for drinks, and Draco wouldn't get mad or upset at the change in routine, he'd simply make note that he'd get out less to cook that day and told Harry to enjoy himself.

Neither of them found it odd just how well they were beginning to get on.

Neither of them questioned when bitter arguments had turned into playful bickering, or how casual touches no longer made them flinch away or irritate them but instead gave them some vague comfort. If a stranger could be a fly on the wall, they'd have simply noted how they must have been friends for some time, that was all. Not that their history was steeped in insults and injuries and that not so much as a few months ago, they'd wanted to hex each other to hell and back.

And maybe it was that age-old saying that you never really knew someone until you lived with them, or maybe it was just that fate had never given them a fighting chance to be _anything_ but enemies before. Whatever it was, Draco had never felt so at ease and settled and happy in so long, and Harry felt as though he'd gotten some of his old spark back.

Even the arguments weren't so bad anymore. Draco could complain and snap at Harry for cluttering up the living areas, and Harry would groan when Draco spent the better part of an hour banishing Harry from the kitchen because he kept deciding that things needed rearranging. They had endless disagreements about whether it was worth redecorating, and instead of getting angry when Harry declared that Draco didn't even properly live at Grimmauld Place to _make_ that decision, Draco would remind him that he may as well do, and deep down they found it kind of funny how their fights had moved in tone - because they had gone from physical threats to having honest to God domestic _spats_.

Maybe they should have known, when all was said and done, that for them small victories like that would always be ruined - and never come so easily. In hindsight, both would have probably blamed themselves for getting too comfortable, far too quickly.

Because all it took to jeopardise that subtle truce was a single trip to Diagon Alley.


	9. Second Guessing

Pride was not a word that Harry had ever associated with Grimmauld Place.

Not in a good sense, at least. Pride of your less than tolerant heritage, your blood status, all that discriminatory old trash was something Harry had never aligned himself with and, as such, he had never truly been proud to own the house. It was nothing more or less than a final memory he’d been holding onto, some connection between him and his Godfather, something tangible. No, the house had never really been for him. Never really been for Sirius, either. 

But, all things considered, the way the house looked these days Harry almost, maybe sometimes really _did_ , make him feel proud of the place. And he would gladly hold his hands up and admit it was nothing to do with him, either.

Draco had taken the place on as a kind of project. The cleaning was one thing, but the decorating and furnishing was another. Harry hadn’t really known how to take it, at first. Draco would never own the house, and Harry would still never live in it, but when he’d felt brave enough to dive into why Draco was doing it, he got the most casual, basic response he could have imagined. 

_“It’s just a hobby really, isn’t it? There are hundreds and thousands of people in the world, spending their retirement tinkering with old antiques...or restoring old spellbooks and all that nonsense. I spend most of my time behind four walls, I may as well make them **nice** to look at.” _

But somehow it made sense, as weird as it was.

Harry was hard put to think of many people that would start renovating a house on what was, really, a short-term visit in the grand scheme of things. So, he let Draco do what he wanted, tried his best to buy some of the furnishings himself, even though Malfoy seemed less than bothered about pouring money into something he would never really get any benefit from - apart from something to do.

But what should have been a short visit was fast becoming a long one. 

Harry had asked for updates from the Ministry more than a few times, and before Harry knew it, spring was beginning to disappear behind them and the weather was warming up - and still no more news. Every lead was drying up, they couldn’t even seem to find a single witch or wizard that had heard a whisper of a rumour related to what happened. Kingsley could only apologise to him, and Harry himself could only apologise to Draco and let him go about whatever odd little hobbies kept him happy. 

So, Harry had decided that for the mean time, he was well within his rights to let Draco go into more public wizarding areas as well. And maybe _that_ had become _Harry’s_ pet project, in a way, to see how much he could reintroduce Draco into the public eye. Little by little, day by day, they’d ventured into more popular shops, cafes, and Draco would end up, somehow, always coming back with something new for Grimmauld Place. In return, Harry imagined Draco’s confidence had taken a step forward, the anxiety letting itself step back a touch. 

It had been hard.

Draco had been subjected to more than enough foul glances to last a lifetime, and Harry had found himself becoming positively livid because of it, trying to hold eye contact with any perpetrators until they deemed it too awkward to keep staring. But, Draco had found it quite funny, able to see the lighter side of it all, so long as he had someone there with him who _wasn’t_ hated by the wizarding world. Quite the opposite. 

“You looked like you were about to explode,” Draco had drawled late one afternoon, both of them lazily window shopping on the way back to their apparating point. 

The cobbled streets were quiet and peaceful, people working or getting dinner ready for the evening, or out enjoying the nice day it had turned into. It was not entirely warm, not yet, but the sky was clear of any clouds, the sun cutting through the chilly air in places. It was a nice change of pace. The streets were usually packed from all sides, elbows bumping into ribs and people tripping up over their own two feet. 

“Well, there’s no need for it, is there?” Harry muttered back, voice tight, the anger still trailing irritating fingers down his spine. “I can't understand why people bother anymore. It’s been bloody _years_.” 

“I mean, they’re still more than justified giving a few dirty looks, aren’t they?” 

Harry cast an exasperated look back to Draco, knowing there was no real pity behind the words. Clearly there wasn’t, in its place was a cheeky smile and a flush across Draco’s cheekbones. He still, regardless of the bad reception, looked happier than he had in months. Harry smiled to himself. 

“Of course, they’re allowed to be a _bit_ pissed off,” Harry admitted. “But I’d argue for different reasons” 

Draco quirked one eyebrow, and Harry could mentally see him take the bait. He tried to bite back his smile a little. 

“And what, _Potter_ , does that mean?” Draco asked, his words all dramatics – no real bite.

“I mean, I can understand how your attitude could drive people up the wall...flaunting around high and mighty all the time...staring down your nose at all the _peasants_...” Harry’s voice was light and airy, trying to keep his voice serious and failing, especially as he tried to copy Draco’s straight-backed posture, even more so when Draco let out a loud burst of laughter. 

That was another little thing Harry had noticed and been somehow thankful to see it come to pass. Draco opening up, _laughing_ , not caring so much about being proper and pure-blood and all that other nonsense anymore. Able to take himself a little less seriously. Because what did it matter now? No one truly cared about their formality and, if they did, they weren’t the sort of people they wanted to even associate with anymore. 

It didn’t ever stop his snarky words, or sly ways of getting what he wanted, not even his ridiculously high expectations, but it somehow made it bearable. Endearing, almost. Draco’s hand came up and pressed against his mouth, quieting the laughter down, a habit that sent a flush of warmth through Harry’s chest. 

“Oh, yes, _sorry_. Utter treachery is nothing against a little sarcasm now and again,” Draco chuckled. 

“A _little_ sarcasm?” Harry asked, not looking convinced. 

“Moderate levels, then.” 

“Merlin, you’re good with that.” 

“With what?” 

“Underestimating.” 

Draco let out another small laugh, and Harry joined him. 

“And I do _not_ think other people are peasants,” Draco asserted.

“Oh, of course,” Harry smirked, nodding gravely. 

“I just find other people exceptionally annoying.” 

“All you’re missing is a crown, you know?” 

“There’s probably one back in the Manor somewhere, trust me,” Draco mumbled, peering into a window display of the Apothecary they were passing. 

“Knowing your lot, it’ll be cursed to high hell,” Harry said, casually putting his arm on top of Draco’s left shoulder, leaning on it while the other browsed. Draco rolled his eyes but didn’t shrug him away. 

“Perhaps you might want to wear it first then, I’m not opposed to sharing.” 

“Aren’t _you _kind?” 

“And haven’t _you_ changed your tone,” Draco mimicked, finally dislodging Harry’s heavy weight and continuing their walk back home. 

Those were the nice visits. The normal ones. The ones where Harry would get his back up over what he thought were childish glares and ridiculous hushed whispers.

The days where hexes got thrown, people thinking they were _so_ sly as they muttered under their breath, wrists hardly moving with the cast of a spell – were completely different. Harry would always spot them and Draco would burn with embarrassment as he recovered from whatever school-boy spell had been thrown. Harry couldn’t help but confront the witch or wizard with a less than professional conversation.

Draco would always scold Harry for getting so wound up about it when he, himself, was able to shrug it off. But it never helped, it always gave Harry that same, mindless anger and frustration, like he was scared that if it happened too many times Draco would revert to his old ways. Because he really didn’t want that. Whether he was too stubborn to say it out loud or not, he gladly accepted the fact that Draco was nothing more or less than his friend, in the loosest sense of the word, at least.

And wouldn’t he do the same if someone decided to hex Ron, or Hermione, or any of the Weasleys? _Any_ of his friends from school? 

That...he actually wasn’t so sure about. He’d be annoyed, of course he would. Confront whoever it was if needed, sure. But somehow, he just felt...more protective of Draco than he did them. Because he _needed_ that extra concern, didn’t he? A lot more was on the line than hurt feelings and stinging skin, it felt like Draco’s future hung in the balance with these visits.

If it got bad, if people didn't change, maybe Draco would go back into hiding again.

Which was why he very nearly lost his job on one of the outings if Draco hadn’t pulled him to his senses.

It had just been one of those days. It was _incessant_. Draco couldn’t seem to walk anywhere without horrible words or spells flying, so much so that they were cutting their visit short for the day after Draco had elbowed him and given him a slight shake of the head. But someone had to just push it that step too far, send a hex that was, honestly, bordering on assault. 

Needless to say, Draco wasn’t the one who came off worse in that situation, but he’d all but shouted the house down when they got back. Even Walburga, who’s portrait Draco had been desperately trying to either remove or silent permanently over the weeks, decided to join in the argument. 

“You are such a hot-headed, _stupid_ excuse for a wizard sometimes,” Draco snapped as he stomped down the hallway. 

_“Traitor! Filth-”_

“Well, excuse me for trying to have your back when we go out. That’s my job-” 

“You wouldn’t have a bloody job anymore if I hadn’t have intervened you complete _twa_ -” 

“What do you expect me to do! Just give him a slap on the wrist and tell him not to do it again? It was _assault_ , Malfoy.” 

_“How dare you disgrace the noble house of-”_

“Barely! For Merlin’s sake, you think I haven’t had worse? There was a crowd by the time you were done, and where would have that left us?” 

“The way he was going it would have been worth it. I can’t _believe_ you’re pissed at me for standing up for you.” 

“I’m pissed at you acting like a _child_ about it. Did you even think of the consequences?” 

“My job, I get it, but-” 

“What would I have done then? They wouldn’t just let me-” 

_“How dare you step foot-”_

“Oh, for Merlin’s _sake,_ ” Draco seethed, wheeling his wand towards the portrait, charming the curtains closed so violently the rail they were attached to shook. 

Walburga grew solemn, and quiet, and so did the atmosphere in the house.

Draco took a moment to slow his breathing, willing himself not to let his anger get the best of him like it _clearly_ did Harry. But every time he found himself getting his thoughts together, his emotions began churning around again in an angry swirl.

“If you lose your job, I get uprooted _again._ Call me selfish, but I’m sick of it. Absolutely _sick_ of it. They wouldn’t just let me stay here and wait it out, or go back to the Manor, I’d get shipped off to some random little shack in the middle of nowhere with a complete stranger, and if it came to that I’d rather just ship myself off to Azkaban.” Draco turned, his shoes clipping angrily against the wood floor as he made his way to the kitchen to make an exceptionally sweet cup of tea. “But _no,”_ He continued, seething to himself more than Harry, now. "Precious _Potter_ had to come to the rescue and try and beat the living soul out of anyone who slights him.” 

“I hardly even touched him,” Harry snapped, following Draco into the kitchen. 

“Oh, no, of course, ragging him around by his robes certainly helped though,” Draco said, throwing a dirty teaspoon into the sink and taking a sip of scolding hot tea, hardly noticing how it burnt. “Let's just rough up every soul I come into contact with from here on out.” 

“Give over, you’re being over dramatic.” 

Draco put his cup down on the counter sharply, advancing on Harry and pointing. “ _You_ are the one that’s over dramatic. I thought that little saviour streak might have died off, but now it looks like it gets you into more trouble than ever. You’re unbelievable.” 

Harry found that his hands were coming up to his own face then, rubbing at his tired eyes for a moment. And then he was laughing behind them, trying to hide the chuckles. 

“What on _Earth_ is so funny?” Draco nearly shouted. 

Harry kept laughing and for a moment, could hardly get his words out, Draco stood there, completely lost for something to say.

“Have you actually lost the plot?” Draco asked again, shaking his head. 

Harry mumbled something behind his hands, muffled by the laughter. 

“Oh, for the love of-” Draco said, reaching up to pry Harry’s hands roughly from his face. “I can’t even _hear_ you.” 

“You’re so much like Hermione it’s unreal sometimes,” Harry spat out, falling back into a laughing fit. 

Draco’s face burned red, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. “Oh, I’ve _really_ had enough of you today,” He snapped, attempting to barge past Harry, drink forgotten. 

Harry forgot all about personal space, all about letting Draco cool off and work out his emotions in his own time and grabbed onto Draco’s shoulders as he made his way to the door, trying to stop him from storming off again. “ _Nonono_ , wait, wait- I didn’t mean it in a _bad_ way.” 

And before Draco could even try and throw a tantrum over it, Harry was holding him, hugging him close, and laughing against him, his chest vibrating with the sound.

Draco felt the side of Harry’s face press against his own. Not aligned, no, because of _course_ Harry had somehow gotten taller. And of _course_ , Draco didn’t move, because there was something comforting and warm about his hold. His anger seemed to ebb away, the electricity of their mood fading into something more subdued. 

Draco made no move to hold him back at first, but didn’t push him away either, simply stood there while Harry laughed and explained it was funny because he’d always seen them as polar opposites, but he actually had more in common with Hermione than he’d ever thought. He wasn’t trying to poke fun at him, at all. That he was sorry if it annoyed him, but it was had just really struck a chord. 

Draco finally thawed and moved his arms around Harry, squeezing for a moment and finding himself wanting to lose himself in the comfort of it for a little longer. But soon he began struggling out of Harry’s iron grip, not quite able to catch his eye, but able to smile and laugh and agree with him when he noted that they acted like a married couple sometimes.

And nothing else stirred within him at that thought. Not at all. He retrieved his drink and they spent the rest of the day enjoying the quiet, the comfort of their own company, somehow able to forget what had happened almost completely. 

Because they were almost, _sort of_ , _**maybe**_ friends now, weren’t they?

It was easier to forgive if Draco told himself that, at least.

~-*-~

That was the thought that ran through Draco’s mind as he stared up at the sky, his head throbbing, struggle to focus on what was happening around him.

It was clear. Completely blue. Summer already showing that it was on its way, ready to push away the misery of winter and promise something a little lighter. A little sweeter. Thoughts of comfort and the quiet of Grimmauld Place, Harry’s laughter and lingering touches, teasing words that were never meant to mean much, but meant _something_. Bickering that never led anywhere dark, and if they teetered on the edge that was okay. 

Because they were closer, now. 

All of that was ruined by the noise that had erupted around Draco from all sides.

Someone he didn’t recognise was asking if he was alright, and as he took a moment to breathe, he realised he _was_ okay. Just dazed. A little sore. But the memories and thoughts he _should_ have available to him were only coming back in drips and drabs. It was only when he managed to shift himself upright and realise he was in Diagon Alley that the penny began to drop. 

A crowd had gathered not only around him but around a group of others just a few feet away. Harry was one of them, his hand clasped tight around a wizard’s arm, his other hand pointing his wand threateningly right into the stranger’s face. He looked beyond livid. It was something _beyond_ anger. Something that nearly unnerved Draco. He certainly wouldn’t have wanted to be in that stranger’s shoes, because the commotion it was bringing just went to show how serious it must be. 

But why? 

As Draco got to his feet, ignoring the concerned voices around him, he heard the tell-tale pop of a series of wizards apparating into the area. It was then he finally heard a few voices he did recognise, and the unknown witches and wizards around him backed away as Hermione, of all people, jogged up to him. 

“Draco, are you alright? Do you need me to fetch a mediwizard?” She asked, eyes wild and bright, looking over him as though afraid he might crumble at any second. 

“No, I’m fine...just dizzy,” Draco said, awkwardly, still not able to fully come to grips with what had happened. 

It was only when Draco looked beyond Hermione’s shoulder and got a better look at the wizard Harry was detaining, that he realised the man hadn’t been a stranger to him at all. Not to Harry, either. But he looked... _crazy_ now. Unhinged like so many of Voldemort’s followers had become over the years, like his very presence had been a sickness to them.

Yes, Thomas Ackerly looked completely mad, and even angrier than Harry, if it were possible. He looked ready to _bite_.

But somehow that all paled in comparison.

Draco watched with a sort of detachment and Harry handed the man over to some other Auror, and he watched as Harry tried to deflect any questions for the time being and make his way towards Draco and Hermione. Draco felt a flicker of happiness at that, realising that people did care.

But then he heard something that made his stomach drop. 

“Good work, Harry. Knew we’d find a way to catch this ‘un-” 

“-I knew he’d come out of the woodworks after-” 

“-broad daylight, as well, never would have thought-” 

Draco didn’t know who said it, probably some new Auror’s that had been recruited to fill the hole Ackerly had left at some point. But those words sent a sickening wave of doubt across Draco’s body. Hermione must have seen it across his face, because in an instant she was gently pressing a hand to his arm, as though scared he might fall. 

“Do you need to sit down?” 

“No, I’m fine,” Draco said, throat strained. 

He knew he should be thankful for Hermione’s concern. She hadn’t seen him in years, but hadn’t even so much as acknowledged a single shred of tension that might have been present between them under any other circumstances. She hadn't stopped to dwell on any past discretions. But a horrible bitterness was rising to his throat like bile, and he couldn’t hold back his cold tone, couldn’t stop himself from tensing up, like he wanted to hide inside his own skin. 

Because it had all been fake. 

Draco had been stupid to think otherwise. Stupid to think that Harry was trying to be more careful with what he said and how he acted towards him was because he _wanted_ to get along, because he _wanted_ Draco to feel comfortable. He’d been an idiot to think Harry encouraging him outside had been because they were friends, and he wanted Draco to get over his ridiculous, pathetic, _irrational_ fear of being around others.

It was for the greater good. Just to find that rat Ackerly, get his foot even farther up the ladder at the Ministry. That made the most sense, didn't it? 

But not really.

Draco’s gut screamed at him that he was being illogical, that even _he_ knew Harry wouldn’t stoop so low as to try and befriend him, only to use him like bait. But a scared, insecure part of his mind was whispering otherwise, and soon that was all he could hear, all he could bother to listen to. That Harry had coaxed him, made him comfortable, and had risked his well being - just to catch some of Voldemort's stragglers.

He hardly heard as Harry asked if he was okay, grasping at Draco’s shoulder as though he wouldn’t believe he was there unless he held on tight. Draco caught Harry’s eyes and saw nothing but worry and fear in them. But it wasn’t enough to stop his own fright. Wasn’t enough to quiet the nervous voices that kept muttering how naïve he’d been. Draco nodded curtly, pulling away from Harry’s grasp, paying no mind as Hermione and Harry shared a worried glance. Draco wondered if Harry had _ever_ really forgiven him. 

Wondered if _he_ could forgive this.


	10. Making Amends

Harry couldn’t remember the last time he was so worried. 

It felt like every single bit of progress that had been made between himself and Draco had just disappeared overnight. He was endlessly quiet, hardly left his room, couldn’t even seem to hold eye contact with Harry for more than a few seconds before dropping his head, scowling to himself, and quickly getting out of Harry’s way.

For a time, he wondered if he wasn’t just a little bit depressed about being stuck inside again. After what had happened in Diagon Alley, Kingsley’s foot had come down swift and unyielding at the prospect of Draco so much as stepping outside again, not until they’d interrogated Ackerly, not until they knew where they stood. 

Harry had fought for it, naturally, but had been quickly silenced. Even though Kingsley had agreed that Draco needed to be able to get some fresh air now and again, especially with the case running cold, he’d also never entirely agreed that Draco should be allowed to have extensive stays in public areas. Something he’d not listened to, nor had confided to Draco about. It had been a slight bend in the rules, he’d argued with himself, that it was cruel to only allow his housemate glimpses outside before herding him away from prying eyes. But a slight bend in the rules had left Kingsley unusually angry and had now left Draco seemingly depressed and hopeless again. 

He felt like he couldn’t do anything right. 

Above everything, he missed Draco’s company. He missed taking turns making meals and having their own spots they cleaned up. He even missed trying to live up to Draco’s stupidly high standards to when it came to making tea. Missed sitting in silence in the living area, listening to the gentle rustle of book pages turning while he dozed the day away. He missed their petty arguments over misplaced cutlery and messes left unattended, missed idly talking about redecorating the house and what was next to be replaced or mended. 

What was worse was that he had a good hunch what the problem was and felt like he didn’t have a hope in the world to fix it.

His words would do nothing, he was so sure of that. He knew he couldn’t change how Draco had perceived what had gone on that day. But Hermione, and even Ron, had tried to convince him that if they just sat down and talked it out, things might change and go back to normal. But he was scared to. He feared an argument, a _real_ argument, and was scared of losing all logic and composure and spitting something out he didn’t mean – just because he was tired of fighting and wanted to end it with one single blow. 

Then again, he thought, didn’t leaving it feel so much worse? 

~-*-~

“Go on then,” Ron said. “Any change with the git?” 

Harry rolled his eyes, leaning back on the kitchen counter in Ron and Hermione’s home and sighing. “I wish you wouldn’t call him that.” 

“I wish you wouldn’t pretend he isn’t a git.” 

“Sometimes he is,” Harry admitted. 

“There we go,” Ron laughed, but the sound was somewhat lifeless and forced. “Honestly, though, has he thawed out a bit yet?” 

“Not at all. He still can’t even look at me. Even then he hardly comes out of his room to even get the chance to look my way.” 

Ron bit back a dig at how Harry sounded like he was tending the wounds of a high school crush, knowing that it would only end up in arguing. He was still struggling to understand why, exactly, Harry cared so much about what Draco thought about him to begin with, even if Hermione had spent countless evenings lamenting over how Ron needed to understand that Harry was trying to move past the war, that things had changed, that even if he didn’t care about Draco entirely he cared about living in peace for the next few months or so. 

“Have you sat him down and asked him about it yet?” Ron said after a pause. 

Harry chewed on his bottom lip and rubbed his tired eyes, mumbling. “No. To be honest, Ron, I daren’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“God, he wouldn’t believe me even if I explained from start to finish. He’s adamant I had something to do with Ackerly’s little stunt, like I was using him as bait or something.” 

“Didn’t know you were a Legilimens these days. Merlin, Harry, he might just be sore about not being able to get out again, you never know.” Ron mumbled.

“I doubt even _he’d_ react that bad just because he was stuck indoors.” 

“I dunno. He is a bit of a drama queen.” 

“He’s not though, not really.” 

“Harry, come on-” 

“No, listen. It’s _different_ when there’s something bothering him. He just...shuts off. He’s not acting like he does when I’ve annoyed him.” 

“God, you sound like you’re married to the bloke,” Ron chuckled; his words muffled as he wolfed down the sandwich he’d been making. 

“Trust me, it’s weird enough to me as well. But he’s actually alright when he’s not, you know-” 

“-acting like a drama queen?” 

Harry’s wrist flicked and Ron jumped in surprise as a weak tickling hex caught him in the ribs. 

“Alright!” Ron laughed, rubbing his side weakly as the hex died away. “Merlin, you’re getting arsey.” 

“Well, if you weren’t so _tactless_ , Ronald,” Hermione’s voice suddenly cut through the air, and soon enough she was in the doorway to the kitchen, hair wild and her eyes tired. 

“Long day?” Ron asked, sweeping crumbs from the counter onto the floor and trying not to look guilty. 

“Yes, it has been as a matter of fact. I.. _Ron_ , have you eaten before dinner _again_?” 

Ron looked sheepish, shrugging and struggling to find an excuse. Harry smirked to himself before Hermione wheeled on him, the smile dropping. “And _you_ didn’t stop him.” She snapped.

“Bloody hell, ‘mione, it’s his house,” Harry said, hands up as though preparing to surrender. 

As it turned out, Ron’s appetite didn’t suffer even a fraction as the trio sat down for dinner, talking idly about work and family and updates on their friends. It was nice to escape Grimmauld Place for a while, but Harry couldn’t lie and say he forgot about Draco entirely. His troubles still bothered him, niggling at him in between conversations, losing track of what they were all talking about occasionally. If Ron or Hermione minded, they didn’t show it. Distantly, he was thankful that they didn't mention it.

Eventually, their food settled, and they began to grow tired. Harry excused himself so he could leave the pair in some peace for the rest of the night, and Hermione left Ron to clear the dishes as she walked him out. She shut the hallway door behind her and seemed to be gathering her thoughts as Harry struggled to pull on his shoes. 

“Have you talked to him yet?” 

Harry glanced up from his crouch on the floor, shoelaces in hand, and faltered. “No...not yet.” He admitted.

“You know you-” 

“I have to, I know. I just don’t want to cause a massive argument.” 

“I know that much, but you don’t want to have to carry on like this either. It's bothering you, Harry. You look exhausted.” 

“I know, I’m just _worried_ , that’s all.” He said with a sigh, standing up straight and pulling his coat on. 

“About what? Confronting him about it?” 

“Kind of. I...I don’t know. I’m just worried about him, I suppose.” 

Hermione’s expression didn’t change, but Harry felt embarrassed all the same. She nodded slowly to herself. “I suppose it must be like seeing Sirius all over again, seeing someone trapped in there.” She said quietly. 

Harry nodded and agreed, because yes – somewhere it did resonate with him like that.

But it wasn’t the whole picture. It wasn’t just seeing someone trapped in there and suffering that hurt. It was seeing someone he’d reluctantly grown to care about suffering that was the real problem, feeling like no matter what he did it wouldn’t make a difference or it’d make things worse. It was maybe even because it had been so challenging to be civil with Draco to begin with, even harder to realise they could be somewhat friendly. All of that had been thrown away over some misunderstanding, and it hurt. Harry didn’t voice that thought, but Hermione seemed to understand regardless. 

“Trust me, Harry, you _need_ to talk to him about it. Whether he believes you had something to do with it or not, at least it’s out in the open and, eventually, you’ll feel better...however it goes.” 

Harry nodded and smiled as Hermione came in for a hug, his nerves beginning to creep in, knowing he had to go home. 

~-*-~

Their confrontation happened at an ungodly hour. 

Harry hadn’t been sleeping much to begin with, but that night it felt like sleep was only gracing him five minutes at a time. The frustration that came with it was unbearable, and eventually he’d given up on the idea of sleeping at all, pulling on a jumper over his sleeping shirt. The house was ridiculously cold, again, as though every fire in the place had gone out. No matter how high the flames got it felt like it never cut through the atmosphere of the house. Eventually, Harry admitted defeat and grabbed a throw to take downstairs with him as well, hoping he’d at least be able to get comfortable in the living room. 

As he headed down the stairs, he knew before even entering the living area that Draco was awake as well. A few candles had been lit and he could see a faint glow creeping out from the gap at the bottom of the door. For a moment, he debated heading back upstairs and hiding away, but faintly he saw this as his chance. Maybe Draco would be too tired to be angry, too tired to _really_ hold onto that stubborn distance.

Or maybe Harry was being too hopeful. 

He pressed his hand against the door and winced as it creaked open. Draco’s eyes were on him instantly, almost shocked, before something in them softened and he turned away. There wasn’t a book in sight for Draco to hide away in. He must have had the same idea as Harry because there was a pillow tucked at one end of the sofa and his eyes were dull and exhausted. Before he could bolt, Harry forced himself to speak. 

“Can we talk?” 

Draco frowned and didn’t look at him. “I’m not sure what there is to talk about.” 

“There’s clearly something on your mind,” Harry said, keeping his voice quiet and even. He sat in an armchair opposite Draco, wishing the man would just _look_ at him again.

“Yes, but I’m too tired to argue, I’m afraid.” 

“I don’t _want_ to argue, Draco. I want to know what’s wrong.” 

Draco’s face hardened, and Harry watched as that age-old mask began to slip into place again. He hated it. Harry _hated_ the sight of it. That false glare, that indifference, that _pretending_. He’d hoped he’d never had to see it on Draco’s features again, but clearly things hadn’t been going as well as he’d hoped. 

“You’re more than aware of what’s wrong, Potter. I didn’t think you’d be so stupid to think I wouldn’t mind being used just so you could get on the Minister’s good side,” Draco spat. 

Harry stopped himself from speaking right away, clenching his teeth and forcing in a breath. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t Draco talking, not really. It was some scared and tired thing that was just pretending to be him - trying to protect himself. Somehow, it worked. 

“You need to listen to me, Draco, and I can’t make you believe me – but I did _not_ set you up. It was stupid bad luck. Look, I...Kingsley told me not to take you to public places, and maybe I should have listened, but I thought it would...that it would _help_ -” 

“And I’m supposed to believe you were taking pity on me instead, is that it?” 

“It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t _anything_ like that. Is it so bloody hard to believe that I just wanted to spend time with you?” Harry blurted, feelings his face grow hot in a mixture of anger and embarrassment. 

He half expected Draco to burst out laughing, half expected for them to both revert back to their childhood selves, Harry blurting out whatever came to mind whether it did him well or not, Draco resorting to taunting and teasing to hide everything else he was feeling.

Instead, there was silence.

Draco’s face did not soften, he did not look up to catch Harry’s eyes, it was though he couldn’t even think of what to say, what to let himself think. 

“It _is_ hard to believe,” Draco said, voice so quiet Harry had to strain his ears to catch the words. “I’ve had quite enough of people making a fool out of me.” 

“I’m not trying to make a fool out of you, and I think you know that.” 

And finally, _finally_ , Draco’s features changed, and somehow even the sadness that washed over him then was a thousand times better than that old façade to Harry.

He watched as Draco’s body stiffened and his eyes began to water. He could see so clearly how Draco’s jaw clenched and twitched as he tried to fight back whatever was rushing through his own head. Harry's heart ached horribly, but somehow he was so happy at the same time. Not at Draco's expense, but thankful that he was beginning to pull down that barrier once again - letting him in. Harry didn’t know what to do, could only think that he needed to make things as clear as he possibly could, to stop those insidious voices bothering Draco at every turn.

“I was never involved in what happened in Diagon Alley. I give you my word on that. I’ve pretty much been signed off from the Auror department since you arrived, and I’d never have agreed to something like that to begin with. It was bad luck, and I’m sorry...I just wanted things to feel normal for you.” 

All Draco could do was nod, still battling between letting his emotions take over and storming out of the room to hide away – but he couldn’t quite submit to either. But God, Harry just would not stop _talking._

“You can laugh at me all you want, but I miss your company...even if you do get on my nerves,” Harry said, smiling a little. 

Draco choked out a laugh and put his hands over his eyes, resting his elbows down and leaning forward on his knees. “Shut up, Potter.” 

There was nothing nasty in Draco’s voice, but Harry could tell he was close to crying. He could only imagine the frustration that had been building, trying to figure out what was true and what his own head was building up around him in some messed up form of protection.

How many times had Draco had to rely on that protection during the war? Letting every horrible side of himself become a shield?

Harry slipped out of his seat and sat next to Draco, discomfort ebbing away, and put an arm around him. He waited for a beat, to see if Draco might shrug him off – but he didn’t. Harry let his head rest lightly against the other’s, and Draco felt like he could have died from the embarrassment. He didn’t move away though, instead he found himself leaning into Harry’s touch. He was warm and solid, and comforting, and Draco couldn't remember ever feeling so safe.

They stayed like that for what could have been hours, feeling sleep calling on them as the air cleared and the tension died away. But they didn’t submit to it, not yet, as though they were scared another morning might bring some other mishap, and what they had built would crumble away again.

Harry listened as Draco explained, time and time again, what he’d thought, how it had seemed, and did his best to banish any lingering worry. Harry held him, running soothing shapes across his back, feeling something warm filling his stomach as Draco calmed down and they could talk. Just talk.

Somehow, that felt like the best thing in the world right then.

Only when the sun began to rise did they both give in, slumping against each other and dozing. As the pull of sleep dragged them down, they simply hoped that things would still be okay when they next opened their eyes. 


	11. Opening Up

“I hate working in the Ministry, actually.”

Harry wasn’t sure what had possessed him to just...blurt it out like that without a care in the world, and wasn’t sure just _why_ saying it out loud, so bold and careless, felt terrifying and liberating at the same time. But it did. And he watched Draco’s features carefully for a reaction, expecting the man to laugh at him, or refuse to believe him at all – but Draco didn’t. He just looked confused.

Merlin knew how they’d gotten onto the topic. One minute they were curled up on one of the many elegant but aged sofas across the house, now adorned with slightly less offending cushions that Draco had bought before he was banned from leaving the house again, in a weak attempt to cover up some of the more depressing pieces of furniture - the next they were idly batting questions back and forth out of boredom.

Draco had been teasing, as usual, how Harry had practically been carried into the Ministry, probably didn’t have to _try_ to pass any examinations at all. It hadn’t got to him, he knew Draco’s sense of humour could be downright scathing at times, and he’d learnt quite quickly that it was how you reacted to it that mattered. If Harry responded angrily, Draco would do it in turn, claiming he was just being dramatic. If Harry laughed, Draco would join in. And on the rare occasions he went a little bit too far, if Harry said so, Draco would soften his expression and mutter out an apology.

He never dug back into those sore spots, wasn't half as spiteful as Harry remembered.

“Not to be rude, Harry, but how on Earth does the wizard who defeated Voldemort not enjoying saving people daily? It’s practically your second nature at this point. Merlin, from what I’d gathered you’d been harping on about that job for years,” Draco said in his usual drawl.

“Yeah, I did,” Harry laughed. “Hermione kept on pushing me to branch out and see if there was anything else I fancied doing but...I guess the dust had hardly settled. I didn’t have time to think of anything else...Kingsley practically poached us the minute they cleared up Hogwarts.”

“Well, I mean you might’ve had a bloody browse at least,” Draco scoffed, leaning back into the sofa and stretching his legs with a small sigh.

Harry smirked, casting a glance between Draco’s face and the book in his hands absently. Draco hardly ever looked back, always seemed so intimidated when he caught Harry’s eyes, face flushing in an instant.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, you’re so much-” 

Draco interrupted. “-like Hermione. Yes, yes, yes, I get it.”

“It’s true!” Harry laughed.

Draco caught his eyes before rolling his own, shuffling in his seat again. “Go on then, what’s so terrible about it?”

“You know…just dull. Lots of paperwork.”

“Oh, give over. I know reading a letter might feel like reading a _novel_ to your little brain, but I refuse to believe you hate being an Auror out of _boredom,”_ _Draco said._

“Well, aren’t you riled up today?” 

“Always,” Draco said, lips quirking into a smile. “I am serious though, what’s so bad about it? Has to be decent pay as well, surely.”

“Doesn’t seem worth it, really,” Harry said, his voice taking on a somewhat solemn tone.

At that, Draco slowly closed his book and adjusted himself one last time on the sofa, one lithe leg over the other, and turned to Harry - who tried not to pay attention to how close they’d ended up. 

“Well, that’s charming, isn’t it? Am I not worth your time, Harry?” Draco said, the laughter bubbling up not long after, betraying his serious expression.

Harry snaked an arm around Draco’s shoulders and pulled him close, Draco instantly began to shy away, wriggling. The contact still made him so incredibly uncomfortable, but at the same time, he loathed when that warmth was taken away. He stiffened somewhat, knowing Harry would just cling on like a leech even if he did struggle.

“I’m sorry. Trust me, Draco, you’re my _prize_ assignment. I’m honoured to spend my days protecting _you_.”

“You insufferable little _git_.” Draco snapped, tugging away until Harry finally let him go, who watched intently as Draco smoothed a piece of hair out of his eyes. “Are you going to give me a proper answer or what?”

“What?”

“Why on _earth_ do you hate the Ministry so much? Trust me, Harry, I don’t go outside enough to get it to the Daily Prophet if it’s that scandalous.”

Harry let out a laugh, before sighing, mulling over the words and sinking back into the sofa like it was taking all of his energy to figure it out. “I thought...it’d be closure, like if I just kept going and kept putting an end to all of Voldemort’s followers that there’d be a day where everything would be normal again.”

“There’s no such thing as normal, Harry. Certainly not in our lifetime, unfortunately.”

“I know. That’s the problem. I’ve shot myself in the foot with it all.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow, but didn’t interrupt, his full attention on Harry now. Eventually, Harry went on, quickly realising how much he’d wanted to get it off his chest, even if he was only revealing a fraction of the problem.

“I know the day where everything is okay again isn’t going to come because it’s impossible. But I thought if I just kept on at the Ministry we’d get to a point where I could... _settle_ , I suppose. That I’d done enough. But every day just felt worse. It sounds ridiculous but it feels like no matter what job I’m on, I’m just reliving that whole battle again.” Harry rushed out the words, as though they might escape him if he wasn’t quick enough.

“That doesn’t sound ridiculous at all,” Draco said, quietly. “In fact, I think that’s probably the most intelligent thing to ever come out of your mouth.” Draco winced as Harry punched him lightly on the arm. “I’ll get you sacked for that,” Draco teased.

“Please do.”

Draco rolled his eyes but found himself smiling at Harry’s own grin. He’d noticed over the last few weeks how contagious Harry’s happiness could be sometimes, found himself grinning into his book more than a few times at some sarcastic response Harry threw back at him - his hand was going to get a cramp trying to cover up his spontaneous grins at the rate they were going.

“I thought you’d end up going into teaching, you know,” Draco said, casually, though the admission made him feel anything but calm.

“Teaching?”

“Well, I suppose I did just assume you’d end up an Auror, _obviously_ , but I reckon you’d have done alright as a professor now I think about it more. You’d have been able to make a proper difference for the future that way, wouldn’t you? Not just…” Draco waved a hand in front of him, trying to think of the right word. “Not just damage control.”

Something about that filled Harry with warmth, and he toyed with the idea in his mind.

It was a pipe dream, obviously…but _was_ it? Neville had eventually left the department to teach Herbology, what was to say Harry couldn’t do the same? It felt like everyone was beginning to leave. Ron’s talks about helping out at his brother’s shop were getting more frequent by the day. Would Harry honestly stay if Ron wasn’t about? Clearly his job alone didn’t mean that much to him anymore, or so he thought.

“Have I given you some mind-altering revelation or are you daydreaming again?” Draco asked.

“I don’t _daydream_ ,” Harry scoffed. 

“Sorry, I must have imagined all those other times you were practically drooling, staring into space...” 

“I’ll close my mouth the next time I start daydreaming about you then, shall I?” 

“ _Potter_ -” Draco said, nearly choking on the words, his book slipping out of his hand. Harry’s laughter seemed to fill the entire house. If Draco’s cheeks weren’t burning violently, he might’ve laughed along.

“Why does that get you _every_ time?”

“Because it catches me off guard _every_ time,” Draco snapped, leaning forward to pick his book back up. He wrinkled his nose when he realised once of the pages had crumpled, trying to focus in on that slight irritation rather than his own flustered thoughts.

“Come on, you Malfoy’s can’t be _that_ bigoted, surely.”

“If they were, I’d have been disowned quite some time ago,” Draco grumbled, hardly noticing what he was saying – if he had, he would have turned positively crimson.

Draco didn’t catch Harry’s quirked eyebrow, or the way he seemed to be processing something difficult to swallow - too busy lamenting over his now imperfect book.

Eventually, Draco gave up trying to smooth out the crease, too lazy to reach for his wand, and instead grabbed for his drink instead, gazing sleepily into the fire. Harry let the silence lay for a moment, basking in it, before idly carrying on the conversation. He didn't want to keep wondering why Draco hinting he was potentially interested in men was suddenly piquing his interest. He didn't think he had the mental capacity to unpackage _that_ one tonight.

“How about you then?” Harry asked instead.

“How about what?” Draco asked, rubbing his tired eyes gently.

“Didn’t you ever fancy being an Auror?”

“ _Merlin_ , no,” Draco said, wrinkling his nose. “That was all my father, it never really took my fancy – all that Ministry stuff. Not that it matters now, anyway. I don’t think the Ministry would touch me with a barge pole after that trial, however well it went for me and mother. I’d be surprised if anywhere else would bother with me, either.”

“I could have sworn you’d mentioned it back at school, though,” Harry said, trying not to let the conversation focus in on Draco’s less than positive reputation.

“I’ll repeat myself – that was all my father. If he was still around it’s probably where I’d have ended up whether the Ministry wanted me or not. Maybe not an Auror…probably into the law side of things so he could use me as a puppet,” Draco laughed, bitterly. “Couldn’t think of anything worse.”

“What would you _want_ to do, then?”

“Does it matter?” Draco frowned. “I doubt I’ll do anything but leech off the Malfoy estate, now.” 

“Don’t be stupid,” Harry said, looking almost offended. “I know it might be a shock, but you don’t have to be a complete hermit the rest of your life. There’ll be something out there for you.”

“Not with the mark, there isn’t. It’s a good job my family's wealthy, or I’d be buggered.”

“You’re being very pessimistic,” Harry sighed.

“I’m being _realistic_ , Golden Boy.”

Harry shook his head and settled back a little, letting a gentle smile fall onto his face. “Alright then, humour me - if you could have _any_ career, what would it be?”

“You’ve had enough of a laugh out of me today, Potter. No way.”

“I’m not looking for a _laugh_ , Draco. I genuinely want to know.”

Draco chewed over the thought for a moment, debating. He couldn’t stand the thought of Harry making fun of him over this - especially when it was something so normal but completely off-limits to him under the circumstances. A _definite_ sore spot. Harry seemed to recognize this thought, his expression open and soft and unguarded, urging him to speak.

“If you so much as make a _sound_ close to a laugh, I’ll hex you up and down this horrible old house,” Draco grumbled.

“Come on, _trust_ me,” Harry pleaded.

Draco did.

“When I was young I...well…I wanted to be on a Quidditch team. Professional,” Draco let the words hang in the air for a moment, waiting for laughter. When he heard nothing and saw that Harry was listening intently, he continued. “ _Now_ , probably not. I suppose I wouldn’t have minded doing something with potions...or look at being a healer. I doubt even mother would have approved of that, though, she’s still far too used to _his_ way of thinking.”

Harry smiled softly, nodding and staring back at the fire. “I can see you being a healer, actually.”

“Hm,” Draco muttered, not entirely convinced himself.

“Your bedside manner might need some work, though.”

“So long as people kept their mouth shut, I’m sure I’d manage,” Draco said, smiling begrudgingly.

“Quidditch you’d have no chance though.”

It was only then that Draco found the energy to reach for his wand, though Harry’s reaction alone was enough for him not to even use it. He shot up like lightning before clutching his chest, laughing when he saw Draco lower his wand again with an amused smile.

“I was _kidding_ ,” Harry said, letting out a lungful of air – relieved Draco was grinning at him rather than scowling. He was under no illusion that Draco’s duelling skills were more than fair, even when he joked about hexing him – it sent Harry’s heart hammering.

“You’re lucky I’m so nice, really, or you’d have been through that back wall by now.” Draco sniggered.

"Can I sit back down or are you actually going to use that?” Harry asked, inching back towards the sofa.

“Depends how long you keep quiet for.”

Harry shrugged and held his hands out in defeat, settling back down on the sofa. The silence hardly lasted a second, but Draco put the wand away regardless, forgetting his threats in between the laughter. The pair couldn’t help but cling onto the ideas they’d ignited within each other – mulling over their future, wondering if what the other had said was honest, or even feasible. Even when they went to sleep that night, their dreams were filled not with stuffy houses or routine cases.

They were filled with the soothing scratch of quills across parchment and the steady hum of voices, heels clicking on stark white tiles.


	12. Taking Steps

Draco was fast beginning to realise he had a dilemma.

Some of them he was almost at peace with, others were an entirely different story, and some of them were beginning to get him into a bucket load of trouble he’d rather not deal with at all. 

He wasn’t blind, or ignorant, and _definitely_ not stupid. Draco was well aware that he was beginning to grow fond of Harry, feeling things he had no right to feel. He liked how Harry cluttered up the house, how he managed the fill the silence of the place as though it had never suffered a thousand bad memories or cruel bloodlines. He was growing incredibly fond of the way Harry lost himself in laughter and teasing so easily at Draco’s expense, but found himself stuttering and blushing when Draco did the same. 

Even more than that, he had fell into such comfort and safety in how Harry could almost read his mind, follow the way his thoughts were dipping into dark places, and though he could never truly fix those things he soothed them in distractions and reassurances, never once letting Draco think again that it was all some big joke. And in turn, Harry was endlessly open and spoke about things that hurt with such ease that it seemed to squeeze Draco’s chest with the intensity of it. Though Draco couldn’t always bring himself to offer that same vulnerable honesty – Harry made him want to _try_.

They were polar opposites in many ways, but so close in others, it was almost laughable how they hadn’t struck some kind of friendship in their schooling years. Or maybe they had, in some messed up way. Maybe their hatred had been the only connection they’d been allowed, but a connection nonetheless. Whatever it was, Draco was beginning to drown in the power of it, and feel some horrible shame when a part of him hoped his case would be one that was never solved - if it meant he could stay at Grimmauld Place with Harry for longer. 

And now, here he was, stood in front of the mirror in his bedroom wondering why the hell he cared so much about his appearance and wondering why on earth he’d agreed to come with Harry to see Ron and Hermione.

His mind was already painting out intricate scenarios of the night, all in varying shades of disaster. He didn’t trust himself not to lose his cool, didn’t trust the others not to pick away at sore spots, didn’t trust _anyone_ but Harry to keep him suspended in that sense of security he seemed to always crave. The entire idea of going to someone else’s home sent such a shock of fright through Draco that he’d hardly slept since it was brought up.

But he couldn’t have said no, not when Harry had mumbled and stuttered like he was asking him the biggest favour imaginable, not when Harry had laid out a thousand more ways for him to visit and feel safe. Even Draco wasn’t _that_ callous. Harry was tripping up under his own two feet to cater to him, and if there was one thing that had been ingrained him in since birth, it was giving respect to those who deserved it. Except now, his idea of who deserved respect wasn’t painfully skewed and warped.

Still, the whole scenario seemed to wedge a stone in the pit of his stomach, feeling once again like he was nothing but a puppet on a stage, not knowing if his perception of what was happening was true or just some strange illusion. It felt, deep down, like Harry was trying to get him closer, wanted him to mingle with his friends, wanted to solidify the fact that Draco was, however strange a circumstance, a part of Harry’s life now.

To what degree, Draco both did and _didn’t_ want to know. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with every illusion being broken, not yet. He was terrified of being strung along only to find it was all a joke, even if Harry had made it abundantly clear it was far from that.

“Be honest, how long have you been checking yourself out for?”

Draco jumped and let out a breath, his eyes snapping icily to Harry who was stood in his doorway, smirking. “We don’t all admire ourselves as often as you, Potter. Don’t tar me with the same brush.” 

“Come off it, you love yourself.” Harry grinned.

“I ‘love’ being _presentable,_ _you might want to take a leaf out of my book for once._ ” 

“Trust me, you don’t even need to be that. You could turn up in your PJ’s if you really wanted, they honestly wouldn’t mind.” 

“That’s easy for you to say.” 

“It is, but it’s true,” Harry said, smiling sadly. “Look, if you really don’t want to go, I won’t force you, you know? They’d understand, and I would too…no hard feelings if you’re not ready.” 

Draco looked himself over in the mirror again, not hating the clothes Harry had brought for him, clothes he’d stated might be a little more comfortable to ‘hang around the house’ in, but feeling exceptionally out of place regardless, like even his own skin didn’t fit him anymore. It was nothing more or less than black slacks and a dark, corded jumper – but it still made him feel like he stood out.

Then again, when was the last time anything other than a suit seemed acceptable in Malfoy Manor? His own home and even his clothes were still regulated down to the finest detail, even if it was mostly just from routine and memory. 

“I’m still coming, don’t worry, I just don’t know how well this is going to go.” 

Harry’s face broke out into a grin, which he tried and failed to dampen, not wanting to seem too eager. “They’re a lot more down to Earth than you think. Even if you _do_ decide you don’t like them, at least you’ve got out of this shithole for an hour or so.” 

“This _‘shithole’_ is looking a lot better than it did when I first arrived, I’ll have you know,” Draco said haughtily, moving over to the doorway and jabbing at Harry’s chest, who moved reluctantly. Draco squeezed past, grumbling, doing his best to keep an annoyed frown on his face as Harry only chuckled. It wasn’t lost on Draco how Harry had a rather annoying habit of blocking his path, as though he wanted Draco to nudge him out of the way - he probably wasn’t hoping to get as many sharp elbows, though.

“I’ll give you that one, I suppose,” Harry said, following Draco down the stairs and into the living room. “That jumper I picked out looks good on you.” 

Draco swallowed thickly and nodded absently. “I suppose it does,” He replied, slowly, pottering around the kitchen looking for something to do while they wasted time before leaving. 

“I’m being serious, it does.” 

“Who said I didn’t believe you?” Draco said, catching Harry’s eyes for the briefest moment before turning back to the few pots still left in the kitchen sink, smirking to himself. 

“I, ugh, just wanted to make sure you knew,” Harry said, trying and failing to appear casual, and Draco’s eyes caught the way Harry nervously ran a hand through his hair, as though some thought was niggling away at him.

Draco both hated and loved these brief moments. Hated them because he didn’t know if he was reading too closely into things or not, loved them because a small part of him began to find it possible that Harry, too, was feeling something _more_ _t_ han what was right to feel.

Draco decided then that if he was going to be brave enough to visit Harry’s friends, he was certainly brave enough to try and push his luck a little further. 

“Well, just so you know, you don’t look too bad yourself,” Draco said, voice quiet and unsure, trying to feign his own disinterested tone. 

Draco could feel the other’s gaze burning into him, and when he looked away from the sink their eyes met - and a nervous excitement started to fill him. The silence hung heavy in the room, _waiting_ almost, but neither seemed brave enough to say something more. Draco lost his nerve and turned away. 

“Draco-” 

Harry was cut off by a popping sound behind him, and Draco didn’t know whether he was thankful or devastated.

Hermione’s tentative voice crept down the hallway, and Harry cast an almost disappointed look back to Draco. Nothing more was said. Draco wandered out into the hallway behind Harry, and smiled politely as Hermione greeted him, asking how he was. Before Draco could even really process it, they were making their way to Hermione and Ron’s home, wondering little glances passing between Harry and himself until they appeared to file away the thought, trying to act normal for the night.

After a moment of idle chattering, the ice began to thaw little by little, and by the time Draco was seated down at the Granger-Weasley's dining table, he was beginning to see what Harry meant when he said he shared more in common with Hermione than he realised. Her ability to bridge even the widest of gaps was something to be applauded, at least.

~-*-~ 

The evening went faster than Draco could have ever imagined. 

He was all but shocked when Harry said they needed to get going and saw it was nearing midnight. Even with the slightly aggressive tension between himself and Ron...it had been nice to spend time with the pair. He felt exhausted, physically and mentally, but in that relaxed, satisfied kind of way that he hadn’t experienced in what could have only been years at that point. 

Ron had tolerated him and by the end of the night was comfortable enough to give him a smile and say – whether honest or not – that himself and Harry needed to visit more often. Draco’s inner child was downright shocked to find Hermione wasn’t half as insufferable as she’d been made out in his earlier years.

If anything, it had made a massive change to be able to discuss work and studies at length without knowing the other person was dozing off and desperately trying to cling onto their attention span. Even if he did keep catching Harry’s amused gaze, the Auror mouthing ‘ _I told you_ ’ with that insufferable, but endearing, smirk. 

What was more, Harry seemed almost elated with how the night had panned out. He seemed energised, like a lifetime of worry had been swept off his shoulders in one swift movement - if that didn’t make the whole ordeal worthwhile, nothing would. Harry was all but talking his ear off as they arrived back at Grimmauld Place, the dark interior of the house, that gloom, seeming so much less biting all of a sudden - like their laughter was holding off the shadows.

“I knew you’d get on with Hermione if you ever got chance to talk to her, I bet she’s been dying for someone like you to chat with for ages. Me and Ron don’t have quite the...quite the, um-” 

“Attention span? An adequate number of brain cells?” Draco suggested, chuckling as Harry shoved him lightly. 

“I was going to say we’re not quite on her wavelength with some of her conversations...but I’ll let you have that one for free.” 

“Weasley seems to have his usual gripes, however,” Draco muttered, an child-like, anxious part of him hoping Harry would shrug it off and soothe his worry over not being able to gel with Ron much.

“He’s stubborn, I’ll admit, but he could have been a hell of a lot worse,” Harry admitted. 

“Yes, I suppose he could have. It’s been a nice night, really.” 

Harry smiled, warm and content. “Thanks for coming with me.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for anything,” Draco mumbled, slipping his jumper off, still burning up from the fire they’d been sat in front of for the better part of an hour while their dinner settled. Draco could admit that he’d been so comfortable, he could have probably drifted off to sleep settled there.

When he looked up, Harry’s eyes were on him – soft and pleased, and Draco couldn’t help but give a small smile back. Without another word, Harry was pulling him into a strong hug, as though he’d been waiting for it all night. Draco melted into it with ease, huffing out a laugh to try and diffuse his own self-consciousness, wrapping his arms around the other and running a soothing hand up Harry’s back.

He pretended not to notice how Harry shuddered slightly. 

“I’m serious, I know it must have been weird, but...” Harry trailed away, not really knowing what he wanted to say, but Draco still nodded. 

They stayed that way at the foot of the stairs for what felt like hours, and Draco thought he might be able to stay there for a lot longer than that. But soon enough, Harry pulled away - and Draco nearly shot out of his own skin as Harry’s lips pressed against his cheek, warm, soft, but very much _there_.

Draco could hardly keep up with his own thoughts, and it appeared the shock of it seemed to creep up to Harry all in one rush, too – because his eyes searched Draco’s for a moment, before he squeezed Draco’s shoulder and made a prompt escape upstairs, hardly saying another word. 

Draco stood there for the longest time, his thoughts a muddled mess of a thousand different ideas, face flushing and stomach fluttering. As silence settled over the house again, he finally turned to look up the stairs, rubbing his cheek absently and biting back a shocked laugh. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t been flung into some alternate universe, where things like Harry _kissing_ him on his cheek was a normal occurrence.

Then another thought struck him, one that elated him and terrified him in equal measures – he wondered how nice it might be if that was a normal occurrence in _his_ universe.

Draco didn’t sleep much that night.

He couldn’t seem to fight away his thoughts, wondered if Harry was struggling to sleep, too. Wondered if he was just as confused at his actions as he was. Draco laid facing the door, listening out, exhausted but not distressed, feeling warmth bloom on his pale cheek where Harry’s lips had been not hours before.

Thinking, for the thousandth time, whether it was the first of many more - or none at all. 


	13. A Cunning Plan

Draco was prepared to be annoyed with his own cowardice – and found that he had no reason to prepare at all.

Harry had more than enough bravery for his own good. Draco had been terrified the next morning, had to fight with his own feelings and force himself out of the safety of his bedroom. He was worried Harry would have forgotten the night before, that it was just a strange slip of the mind, nothing serious at all.

And yet, not only did Harry remember - he seemed more than happy to smother Draco with affection that _should_ have been easily shrugged off as them just being comfortable with each other. Draco had seen how Harry and Ron didn’t have any issue with physical affection, whether it be hugging or, on one occasion, getting each other into headlocks in the kitchen while Hermione tried to keep a shred of patience.

But Draco was entirely sure that having Harry slump over his lap like a cat the second his breakfast was finished wasn’t ‘normal’ as friends. Or that fact that the doorframes seemed to have shrunk in the house because Harry had an excellent knack for wanting to squeeze by him fifty thousand times a day. Between that and the bear hugs Harry managed to wrangle him into, pressing his lips against his temple as though he had every right to be so casual with his affection, was driving Draco mad. Harry most certainly did not treat Ron the same way he treated Draco.

The only time that ever ebbed away was with their frequent visits to Ron and Hermione’s place, but the shy smiles and the way Harry’s eyebrow quirked upwards when a silent joke passed between them was enough to smooth it over. Something had changed, it was plain and simple, and Draco had silently come to realise that he was beginning to feel something stronger than the usual affection he’d built for Harry.

It was terrifying, of course, but it was something he couldn’t pretend wasn’t happening.

Even more frightening was his realisation that Harry might be feeling something, too.

Draco hadn’t entirely noticed it just from their sudden acceptance of being close physically. He had noticed the change and seen it grow from how much they’d shared, breaking down ideas they’d held about each other for so long, talking about the war, of course, and finding humour with the hurt.

It had been hard for Draco, especially, to let some of those judgements go. It was in his nature to hold grudges considering he’d been brought up to think that way, but they _had_ been let go. Slowly, reluctantly, and with more than a few late nights where it felt as though neither of them dared sleep until something else was addressed.

Now, they were nothing more than jokes – because Draco wouldn’t have been able to stop calling Harry a golden boy even if his tongue had been removed.

It was an unfortunate thing for both that nothing more ever seemed to come of it.

The threat still lingered in the forefront of their minds, and the Ministry’s apparent disinterest with the case was beginning to show. Draco had requested, what felt like a hundred times, for updates on his mother – only to be told they couldn’t disclose any information other than she was well. With every brush off, Harry seemed to become more infuriated, and more depressed on the few occasions he was called into the Ministry for odd business. Every single time he returned home with a face as dark as thunder, ranting about how he never got any answers, upset that no matter what he did he couldn’t seem to make progress for them.

Deep down, Draco felt like they were just expecting Harry to deal with the burden of having him and forget about it - but he never let the words out, knowing it would hurt both of them.

After one too many dismissals and several nights spent in frustration, Harry’s mind began to wander into alternative ways to try and push the Ministry along with their investigation. Many a night was spent with both Ron and Hermione, when Draco had decided to stay home, discussing ways they might be able to nudge Kingsley in the right direction, inhaling mugs of coffee to try and avoid falling asleep at the dining room table.

Everything came up blank.

“The Ministry isn’t going to budge, Harry. There’s not a lot we can do but sit and wait it out,” Hermione had said one night, her hair frizzy and wild after one too many anxious trails of her fingers.

“Yeah, mate, you might wanna get him out of your hair, but it’s not like we can work outside of our assignments, and ‘mione’s in a different department.” Ron shrugged.

“I don’t want him out of my hair, Ron,” Harry mumbled, exasperated, having explained a thousand times and then some. “I just think it's completely ridiculous that they’re keeping us _all_ in the dark - and they don’t even seem bothered about solving the case anymore. They’re hoping it’ll fizzle out. Pisses me off.”

Hermione’s lip quirked, trying to force a smile. “I know, Harry, but even I’m at a loss. We can’t just shove our nose into it and not expect any consequences.”

“I _can’t_ just leave it there,” Harry groaned, putting his hands over his face and sighing. “You know what I’m like.”

“We don’t half,” Ron laughed. “But unless you expect us to go rogue we’re just gunna have to deal with the crap Kingsley dishes us.”

Harry chewed on his bottom lip, contemplating, and it was Hermione who realised the cogs were turning then. She cast a concerned look to Ron, who shrugged, before leaning forward on the table.

“Harry, don’t you even dare think about it,” Hermione scolded.

“What?” Harry snapped, feigning innocence.

“I can see the steam coming out of your ears, Harry, don’t play pretend. We can’t deal with this ourselves, Harry...not anymore.”

“Why not? The Ministry certainly doesn’t seem to want to help out these days. I’m fed up of it.”

Hermione took in a deep breath, trying not to lose her temper. “Harry, listen to me...for you, even for Ron, it might not seem like that big of a risk anymore - but I _like_ my job. I want to keep working at the Ministry...to make it better…make it _fair_. I can’t do that if I get fired for interfering with matters that aren’t mine,” Her voice grew quiet, almost sad, and Harry instantly felt a wave of guilt.

“I know, ‘mione…and I don’t expect you to risk your job, I really don’t. But you know I can’t just leave it.”

“I know, Harry,” Hermione sighed, straightening up in her chair and clearing her throat. “But, I suppose, so long as our conversations don’t leave this room...it wouldn’t be so bad of me to give you some advice now and again, would it?”

Harry couldn’t help but let his face split into a wide grin, and he caught Ron giving her an exceptionally loving look. A pang of jealousy hit his stomach at the pair of them, but it was easily forgotten over the excitement, it was envy he’d felt many a time and learned to dismiss.

“Well,” Ron said. “You know you’ve always got me to help out, anyway. Between us lot, I reckon I’ll be packing it in soon, anyway. Won’t really matter if I’m sacked considering I’ve got the shop to fall back on.”

“I figured as much,” Harry said. “Suits you more, honestly. I don’t think either of us were cut out to be Auror’s.”

“Well, it was all so glamourous to begin with, you know,” Ron laughed, the three of them breaking into smiles. There was a familiarity blooming between them, and the nostalgia of it filled them up so much it was easy to forget the darker side their mischief always seemed to revolve around.

“Any ideas, anyway? I’m stumped aside from taking the ‘jumping headfirst into trouble’ routine.” Harry asked.

“Clueless as always,” Ron admitted.

“Well, actually...” Hermione began, and Ron and Harry laughed in unison. She waved a hand and shushed them. “Even though I don’t condone this frankly _stupid_ stunt of yours, I’ve had a bit of an idea for a while...”

Harry felt his love for his friends burn stronger than ever as Hermione reeled off the plan she’d been hatching. Those ideas had been turning over in her head ever since she’d noticed the pining looks Harry had been trying to hide whenever he looked Draco’s way.

Although that detail went unmentioned.

~-*-~

“-she wants us to move into my flat.” Harry blurted out, cutting through the lull in their previous conversation – he’d been dying to discuss it ever since he got back from Ron and Hermione’s, but had kept his cool, trying to smooth out every detail before he brought it up.

“Excuse me, what?” Draco asked, utterly confused.

“Look, I know it sounds bonkers-”

“Yes…yes it bloody does,” Draco’s eyes narrowed, his attention moving to Harry completely. He could tell just by the way Harry’s eyes had brightened, his hands never leaving his hair to ruffle it, that he was both excited and nervous.

“But it makes _sense_. Look, just, let me explain.”

Draco sighed, but nodded. “Go on, then.”

“It’s not going to be the...safest thing in the world - I can tell you that much. But the fact is the Ministry has halted any movement they were making on the case. It’s like they’ve forgotten about it. Even _Ron_ couldn’t get any updates and he’s the biggest gossip the departments ever bloody seen. That’s why we need to leave Grimmauld Place, we need to...”

Harry paused and sighed, realising there was no easy way to say what he wanted to say. He was suddenly scared to. It appeared he had forgotten how sharp Draco was, however, because the realisation flooded the man’s silver eyes.

“You want to lure them out, don’t you?”

“I know it sounds awful, Draco. I know…”

“Christ, Harry, I was starting to think we were getting on. Now you really do want to use me like blood in the water,” Draco’s voice wasn’t angry, or upset, it was flat. Emotionless. Draco tried to process everything, trying not to let old worries flare - but they reeled up as though they’d been waiting for a moment of weakness.

A hand on Draco’s shoulder squeezed, solid and reassuring, and his heart jumped at the concern glazing over Harry’s green eyes.

“Please don’t think I’m asking this because I don’t care about you, Draco. In fact, I’m asking because I _do_ care about you. A lot,” Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he noticed Draco’s pale cheeks tinge pink for a moment. “You can’t live in here forever, you at least need a _chance_ to live like everybody else…and so long as we go along with what the Ministry asks...I don’t think you’ll ever get one…not you _or_ your mother.”

“I know,” Draco said, as though trying to convince himself. “I know, but...”

“It’ll be dangerous, but...I think it’ll be worth it.”

Draco took in a deep breath, calming his nerves, and Harry’s hand moved to the top of his back, rubbing circles into it. He thought how odd and yet how normal it felt to have that physical comfort. Suddenly, _frighteningly_ , he thought how much he loved those small gestures and distantly wondered if they’d fade away with this change, that taking a chance to go back to normal life might ruin what they’d been building. Still, he knew what he had to do, whether it scared him or not.

When Draco next spoke, his voice was steady and controlled. “So, is that it? We just move without the Ministry knowing? I don’t see what help that’ll be.”

“That’s not all. Ron’s still working full time at the Ministry for now, but he’s not going to be there for long. If we want to go through with it, he’s going to start dropping rumours in the Ministry that you’ve been moved to a flat in London. It’s vague, but it’ll be just enough information if the right people hear it. It’s not guaranteed...but I think it’ll be enough for one of them to find out, whether inside the Ministry or out of it.”

“What if it gets to Kingsley?”

Harry’s lip quirked into a lop-sided grin, almost sheepish. “We deny it until our faces turn blue and hope for the best?”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, happy to see your plan is completely watertight, Potter.”

“Aren’t they always?”

Draco smiled, but it faded quickly. “Harry, I understand where you’re coming from with this, but there’s too much at risk.”

“I’ll keep you safe,” Harry said, blunt and painfully honest. “You know I will.”

Draco caught Harry's eyes and thought he might melt under the intensity of his gaze. For a moment, his eyes flickered down to Harry’s lips before darting away - shocked at himself. Harry’s eyes seemed to blow wide, if only for a second, and then Draco turned away in a panic – another moment gone. Draco thought over those words. Before he might have been offended by them, he might have even called Harry out for insinuating he was _weak_. But right then and there - all it did was fill him up with affection for the other man.

Draco cleared his throat, trying to push aside the embarrassment. “Yes...I guess I do know that. But more importantly, what if you lose your job? Your home? I hardly think you’d want to keep living there if those nutcases put a target on the front door.”

Harry let out a bitter laugh. “Draco, I couldn’t care less if I lost both of those things. You know I’m not exactly enamoured with the Ministry at the moment…and you haven’t seen the absolute state of my flat, yet.”

They both laughed, and the tension of the decision they had to make cleared for the sweetest second.

“How does Hermione feel about all of this?” Draco asked.

“Not the best, but it was her idea, so she can’t be that against it. She **is** taking a back seat, though. For some strange reason she loves her job,” Harry said, crinkling his nose.

“I’m not surprised,” Draco said, flatly.

Harry didn't say anything else, let the idea stew in Draco’s brain, didn’t want to push him. Eventually, though, Draco’s quiet voice broke the silence.

“I don’t have much of a choice, do I?” He said, and it was as though he was speaking to himself, pondering what would become of his life if he kept stagnant, waiting for the day the Ministry shipped him back to the Manor - whether he was safe or not.

The idea of going back there and spending the rest of his life isolated with his mother was both comforting, and sickening. It was never really a choice at all, and he knew it. He loved his mother - but neither his love nor his inaction would help her. For once, he didn’t want his world to remain stuck in time, willing away the hours inside the same four walls - even if he was scared for what felt like a thousand reasons.

“I won’t force you,” Harry said, quietly. “It’s my suggestion, but it’s your decision. It always will be.”

Anxious words jumped out of Draco’s mouth before he could stop them. “I’m surprised you’re not forcing me. I bet you can’t wait to have me out of your way.”

Silence fell, and Draco inwardly cringed at what he’d said, not meaning to sound so bitter and nervous and _needy_. He hated how his anxiety crept up on him so easily, habits he could never seem to leave behind, second guesses tumbling out of his mouth before he even realised what he’d done.

“You won’t be getting rid of me,” Harry said, bluntly. “I want you to have a life outside of this horrible house, but I wouldn’t mind still being a part of it.”

Draco felt as though his whole body relaxed at once, choking out a relieved laugh. Harry smiled, warm and earnest, eyes pinned on Draco’s features. It was Draco who moved in first, hiding his burning face into the crook of Harry’s neck, holding him tight. His voice was muffled, but Harry could hear the relief clear as day.

“I’m sure I can squeeze you into what will no doubt be a busy schedule,” Draco muttered, falling back on humour to try and disguise the absolute tidal wave of relief and affection he felt.

Harry’s body shook with laughter, squeezing Draco tight, absently pressing a kiss to the man’s temple as though it was just as unconscious as breathing. “Aren’t I lucky?”

“Very,” Draco mumbled, showing no signs of letting go.


	14. A Feeling Close to Home

It didn’t take long for them to gather their things and prepare to move.

Draco hadn’t brought all that much with him to Grimmauld Place to begin with, and they left behind a suitable amount of clutter to make it feel as though they were still living behind those walls, just in case. Mugs of tea and crumb-littered plates were left out in the dining room, books Draco didn’t care to read again were scattered across the living area. Beds were left unmade, clothes draped over chairs, and with some help from Hermione - the place was rigged high to low with alarms on the – _hopefully_ – low chance they had an unexpected visit.

For once, Draco’s own fears and insecurities about being uprooted again were nothing compared to the anxious tension that had been building in the other man. Harry hadn’t slept, his hair was so wild it was nearing on knotted, and he seemed completely unable to sit still for more than a few minutes. He was filled with an anxious sort of electricity, fight or flight, like his soul purpose and only motive was to get them moved out without a hitch.

In a way, it was.

For once, Draco had been the one trying to soothe Harry, reassuring him that he was fine with taking the risk if it meant he could have a chance at making up for all those years holed away in the Manor - and it was true enough. But Harry had felt _so_ responsible, had begun to regret even bringing up the idea at all. He wished, like he always did, that he could solve the problem himself, not have to drag other people into danger, and had tried to do just that and failed.

Soon enough, they were loading their minimal luggage into the hallway, doing their best not to focus too hard on the problems that may lurk ahead, at the things they were putting at risk, trying to remember what they’d gain by taking this leap. Harry was ready far before Draco, biting at the corner of his nails anxiously, watching as Draco double-checked his bags.

Harry couldn’t help himself for asking again. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay here? I could go by myself. If the rumours work, you don’t have to be there to get caught up in it all…”

“You’re not abandoning me here, Harry,” Draco said, voice both blunt and nonchalant at the same time. “If you think I’m going to skulk around this place like a little house elf while you’re tucked away with your hero complex for company, you’re very greatly mistaken.”

Harry baulked, staring at Draco’s back with furrowed brows whilst the blond fussed around in the hallway, making sure he’d packed all his essentials. There’d be no second trips, they’d agreed on that much. They were inviting dark wizards onto their front doorstep, of course, but it would be on familiar ground. If they got caught in the street or mid- apparition over a stray toothbrush it was something else entirely.

“I’m not abando- what do you _mean_ , hero complex?” Harry asked, incredulous.

“Don’t play coy with me, Potter. At this age, you have to be self-aware about your annoying quirks,” Draco mumbled while digging into his suitcase. He shrugged, then closed it up with a brisk flick of his wand, straightening his back and sighing.

“I don’t think a hero complex is a quirk, Draco...you know, one second I reckon you like me, the next I feel like we’re back at school.”

“It’d be terribly sad for everyone around us if I decided to abandon all my humour, Harry, whether we’re friends or not. It’d be a shame to stop teasing you now,” Draco stated, curtly.

Harry couldn’t help but smile, leaning back against the hallway wall, watching as Draco moved from fussing with the bags to his hair in an old, watermarked mirror that was hung up beside several portraits. “You sure it’s not just that old habits die hard?”

“Of course not,” Draco said, pushing back some of his silver hair and frowning as it slid out of place again. It had gotten far too long, sweeping into his eyes. He ran his fingers through it and pushed it off to the side. “Making digs at you is the peak of comedy. At the very least, it makes _me_ feel better.”

Stepping away from the mirror, Draco took in his clothes and a strange flush ran through him. He hardly recognised himself these days. Dark circles were beginning to form under his eyes, stress taking its toll yet again, but he still he looked more comfortable than he ever had in his life. His poker-straight stance had relaxed, eyes no longer cold and piercing but pensive, his formal attire swapped for something a little more human.

Draco tugged, unconsciously, at the bottom of the jumper he was wearing. It was Harry’s, a knitted, grey thing that he’d lent Draco when even the fires in Grimmauld Place couldn’t kill the cold. It smothered his lithe frame, but Harry never had gotten it back. He’d refused to put it on at first, but after more than a bit of manhandling and pleas, he’d worn it and knew then and there it wouldn’t be getting returned without a fight.

“You finished admiring my jumper?” Harry said, chuckling.

“Actually, I’m wondering what other items of clothing I might be able to steal from you.”

Harry flushed and laughed again. “Molly knitted that one, you know. Reckon I'll ask her to knit you an entire wardrobe, soon, then I can get my stuff back.”

“I doubt she’d be willing,” Draco said, though there was no heat to it. It was like routine, always assuming the worst, because that’s all Draco had ever received for the past few years - but it was a tired routine, one even Draco couldn’t recite without simply sounding fed up.

“Draco, you’ve been proven wrong before on that account before, don’t make me do it again,” Harry warned.

Draco sighed and turned to Harry, giving him a tentative smile. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I’m still surprised I get along with Granger as much as I do.”

“Tell me about it, I’ll be getting jealous soon,” Harry smirked.

Draco rolled his eyes. “There’s enough of me to share, Potter.”

Harry laughed again, warm and loud, and grabbed his coat from the stand beside him. “I’m not the sharing kind of man,” He said, matter of fact, as he pulled on a jacket. “I’ll be having stern words with ‘mione soon, I think.”

“If you’re done trying to woo me, Harry, we need to get a move on,” Draco said, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow at the other.

“Alright, I suppose,” Harry’s grin softened somewhat, and he took in a breath, picking up one of Draco’s bags and following the other to the door.

Before they opened it, Harry caught Draco’s wrist gently, urging the other man to face him. He didn't even have to open his mouth before it clicked in Draco’s mind what he wanted to say.

“I’m sure,” Draco said, voice steady. “So long as _you_ still are…we both have things to lose.”

“I know...I'm sure. I’m just worried,” Harry admitted, hand still clutching Draco’s arm as though for support. “If it all goes wrong...”

“Then I’ll be just as responsible as you. Nothing good ever came from sitting by idle, Harry, you of all people know that.”

Harry smiled and moved his hand to Draco’s shoulder, squeezing tightly, knowing nothing more had to be said.

Soon enough, they opened the door – and said goodbye to Grimmauld Place.

~-*-~

Draco hadn’t been expecting much.

In his head, he’d almost imagined Harry’s flat as a kind of dreary cousin of Grimmauld Place. Outdated but in a frightfully depressing way, or cluttered floor to ceiling with mementoes and knickknacks. At best, he imagined the bare bones were salvageable but it had been utterly ruined by Harry’s apparent disregard for organisation or taste.

What Draco did not expect was how much he instantly _loved_ the place.

It was as though he’d been starved of comfortable surroundings all his life. The closest he’d ever gotten to feeling that sense of true homeliness was the Slytherin common room, but even that had been cold in its own way. The fires hadn’t done much to provide true warmth, and the ornate green lamps had given the impression of being trapped underwater. It was all cool slate and brittle wood, not remotely built for comfort or even practical means – all for show. And yet, that common room had been home because it had been an _escape_ , even if it was far from perfect.

Harry’s flat was the safe space Draco had craved his entire life – he just hadn’t realised it until that very moment.

Harry flicked his wrist and several lamps bloomed into life, casting a glow across the rooms that felt close to the glare of the sun on a sultry, summer day. There _were_ indeed knickknacks, pushed away on shelves or a coffee table, arranged with care, and pictures hung on every wall, some moving, some still. There was a deep, crimson throw hung over the sofa, matching pillows against armchairs, and a large, panelled window overtook most of the living area. Plants were lined below it, books stacked and off to one side. Draco was almost sad when Harry drew the curtains but understood the need to.

Harry busied himself by taking Draco’s bags into what must be the bedroom, and Draco wandered as though in a dream into the open living room and kitchen. It was small, but small was secure. Small was _enough_ , Draco realised. Emotion seemed to flood him, and he scolded himself for getting so worked up over something as unimportant as this - but the emotion kept coming, nearly overwhelming and spilling over.

“-I’ll set up on the sofa so you can have the bedroom. There’s not a lot of space so...” Harry trailed off, watching Draco’s features carefully. He let the words trail off, a silence filling the gap, before asking, carefully, if Draco was okay.

“Yes,” Draco replied, a little too quickly, and he felt as though his breath had left him for a moment. “Just...overwhelmed, I think.”

“Not by this place, surely,” Harry said, laughing a little. “It’s not exactly a mansion.”

“Trust me, they’re not all they’re made out to be,” Draco said. “I’d much rather live somewhere like this.”

“My, my, has the Malfoy heir become humbled at last?” Harry said, trying to lighten the strangely solemn mood that had overcome the flat.

Draco scoffed, letting a smirk take over his face, feeling his emotions begin to dip and fall back into place. “There _is_ a lot of dust, however...”

“There’s the Malfoy I’ve grown to love.”

“I’ll be sure to owl my Mother about the wedding proceedings,” Draco said, impassively.

Harry felt his face burn and stomach flutter, nervous laughter bubbling out of him until Draco joined him. No matter how many times he was submitted to Draco’s snark - it always seemed to catch him off guard.

“Are you sure you’re okay taking the sofa?” Draco asked, idly folding and fixing the throw laid over it, his movements careful as though he was unsure if he could touch Harry’s belongings at all.

“Yeah, of course I am. Not the best start to our engagement but needs must, I suppose.” Harry chuckled.

Draco looked back over to Harry, his smile not a shade sly of devious. “I’m sure I can make room for you if you're _that_ insistent.”

“You need to stop,” Harry laughed timidly, his face burning brighter than ever.

“Why, am I making you nervous?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair and stormed into the kitchen, smiling at Draco’s giggles that erupted behind him. “You’re doing _something_ ,” He muttered to himself, fixing them both a drink, trying not to grow flustered as Draco’s hand brushed his own to take it.

Harry didn’t know why, but Draco seemed to settle into the space almost instantly.

His eyes travelled across the room as though soaking in every detail, sighing in delight as he sank back into a sofa that Harry had once thought was becoming tatty. Never in a thousand lifetimes did he think he’d ever see Draco appreciate something so banal. Then again, Harry had never thought Draco would ever take a second glance his way, never mind live with him for the foreseeable future, whether out of choice or not.

Watching as Draco settled in, comfort appearing to seep into every inch of his body - it was almost too easy to forget the danger they had invited right to their front door.


	15. A Plan Gone Awry

The Ministry was like that of a snoozing beast.

The cogs still turned, engines running, but the fire that had been behind it before was long gone. Ron had been aware of it for the past year, where before he’d only been filled with naïve excitement and pride. It had been something of a dream. Recognition, standing apart from his siblings, a noble career steeped in a history that would not be easily forgotten, history that he was a part of.

What Ron hadn’t expected was how little he really cared for it.

He’d reasoned with Harry almost daily that it wasn’t so bad, that although it grew tiresome and it felt as though they were swimming against the tide, it was for the greater good. But he hadn’t convinced Harry, and he certainly hadn’t convinced himself either. Now, it was as though that spark was back, muted but warm and beginning to start a fire in him.

It felt like action - like they were making a difference again.

Certainly, it wasn’t a glamourous job. There were no life-threatening duels, skulking in the shadows to unveil an enemy, not even so much as a glimpse at the dark wizards they wanted to bring down again. All it was – was gossip.

Ron would seek people out, those he’d had suspicions about but hadn't managed to pin to anything on, those who were simply as loose tongued as him when it came to Ministry information. He collared every witch or wizard he could think of over the course of a few weeks, dropping hints, changing the story a little bit each time, changing who had told him the information, just to stop it from seeming too obvious.

For the first time in a very long time, Ron didn’t mind that it was drawing his career at the Ministry to a close, because if he pulled this off – it would make all the difference.

~-*-~

Hermione was restless.

She knew she couldn’t risk falling too heavily in with Harry and Ron’s plan, couldn’t offer anything more than advice if she wanted to retain her work at the Ministry. But it felt like betrayal, and she despised it. Every night when she returned home, she’d listen to Ron’s updates about who he’d told, who seemed overly interested, his predictions on who might be part of the underground world they’d hoped was all but forgotten - and she loathed the situation she was stuck in.

Ron was a good sport about it, listened to her endless directions and scolding and advice on what she would have done instead. He smiled and listened and told her he’d do all those things, but she felt adrift. Lost. Like she was missing out on something integral. Ignoring her own fire just for a job…but deep down she knew that it wasn’t just a job.

It was a chance she couldn’t throw away, a chance to change things long term.

Harry and Ron had never really had that foresight. They lived day by day, second by second, never planning unless necessary. But Hermione could see her life stretched out before her as though it was an endless scroll unravelling at her very feet. Promotions, positions, family, moves, baby names, policies, godparents, petitions. All of it neatly written in fine, gold ink, trailing away into the distance like a setting sun.

If she let her restlessness get the better of her, it would be like setting the scroll on fire. Everything in disarray. Everything up for grabs, ready to be lost and thrown away. Hermione had, comparatively, always been very patient, but then and there she felt ready to burst with energy. It had always been her way. Too curious for her own good, and too clever to know that curiosity could be dangerous.

So, naturally, she let that promise to herself slip away.

Hermione made note of every person Ron remarked as suspicious. Spent all her time, that wasn’t in meetings or working on files, wandering the Ministry, hoping to catch sight of the person and find – _something_. It was a weak attempt, she’d thought. Pointless, really. Skulking around, walking circles, just hoping that she’d drop on something even remotely worthwhile.

Hermione never realised just how important her sneaking around had been, and how nothing more than a stroke of luck might have saved Harry and Draco’s life.

~-*-~

Draco was asleep on the sofa, his breaths coming soft and steady, tickling the back of Harry’s neck as he sat on the floor, back pressed against the couch. He sifted idly through books he hadn’t touched in years, letting the quiet of the flat fill him up and calm his anxieties. Mostly, he was just thinking, mulling over the past few days, letting the steady rhythm of Draco’s slumber lull him into some kind of peace.

Nothing.

There had been nothing.

He was beginning to think their plan wouldn’t work, was worried that Thomas had been just a fluke, one bad taste on the Ministry’s tongue and that no one else had infiltrated the place. But that just didn’t feel right to him. If they could get one of them through the door, why not more?

And why were they not acting _now_?

Ron had assured him he’d spent day and night talking to whoever would listen about Draco’s dangerous relocation, and people either seemed entirely uncaring or generally just found it to be lucrative gossip. Hermione had told him to be patient, that they were just biding their time, that their plan wouldn’t come to fruition overnight.

But it had been weeks, and they were getting tired.

Not of each other’s company, if anything that had become just as natural as his friendship with Ron and Hermione. He was tired of hiding. Draco spent countless hours sleeping the day away, struggling to concentrate on his books, had nothing to work on or waste his hours with. At least at Grimmauld Place he’d had the opportunity to explore, clean the place up, try his best to overhaul the house – like a project. Harry’s flat was too small, and in Draco’s words – too perfect as it was – to put effort into changing it.

Harry was worried for the two of them.

Their world was already small and contained inside Grimmauld Place, but at least then they’d been able to visit Ron and Hermione, at least back then Harry could find a little freedom visiting the Ministry or Diagon Alley for supplies. Now, their world had become even more compact, but entirely less secure. It was nothing shy of living on a razor’s edge.

It was enough to send anyone mad, despite Draco’s constant reassurance.

Harry jumped as Draco mumbled in his sleep, completely incoherent and yet soothing at the same time. He smiled, and leafed through a few more pages, not really reading, but observing. Going through the motions. Trying to ignore the niggling sense of boredom and frustration that was creeping in – and failed.

Sighing, Harry closed the book and tucked it underneath the coffee table, leaning his head back, sinking into a daze. Sleep began to blur out the outside world, and he was nearly unconscious when a snapping sound filled the flat, and Hermione and Ron stood there, pale faced and wide eyed, in the centre of his living room.

Harry knew something was wrong.

Hermione had barely managed to smooth out her robes before she was storming around the flat, checking the windows and doors, acting more like a trapped animal than a witch at all. Questions tumbled out of Harry’s mouth, Draco sluggishly getting to grips with what was going on, but none of the questions either man fired towards Hermione were answered.

“We need to leave,” Hermione snapped, interrupting them both. “We should have never done this, I was so stupid!”

She continued to berate herself, moving around the flat to peek out of the curtained windows, searching for something - _anything_. She was close to tears and furious at the same time.

“What the hell is going on?” Harry asked, looking to Ron with pleading eyes, knowing Hermione wouldn’t be explaining any time soon. She wandered through the space, ignoring their questions, listening out for any other sign of life.

“They’re coming,” Ron said, somewhat breathless. “We’re bloody lucky ‘mione can’t help herself, otherwise you’d be in some real bother.”

“I don’t understand,” Draco said. “How could she know that already?”

“We haven’t time to discuss it!” Hermione said, breathless. “We just need to-”

A sound cut through her words – metal turning. The group moved into the tight hallway and watched as the front door handle moved, up and down, slowly, carefully, not wanting to be noticed.

It stopped.

Harry carefully stepped between the group towards the door, and he cast a look back at the others, suddenly not sure of what to do. He swallowed, debating.

“Apparate,” Harry whispered. “The lot of you. Head to the Ministry and get some help.”

“Oh, of _course_ , and find you in pieces by the time we get back,” Draco hissed, though there was a terrified edge to his words.

“He’s right,” Hermione muttered. “It’d take too long. We don’t know how many there are. If we’re going, we all go.

“And let them get away again?” Harry asked, incredulous.

Hermione was about to argue when the handle moved again. They froze, immobile. Someone on the other side knocked - and laughed. Before any of them could say another word, the door exploded into a firework display of green light and splintered wood.

All hell broke loose.

Green and red light shot across the flat and dark figures moved in from the destroyed front door, faces obscured by black hoods. There was hardly any room to breathe. Harry and Hermione’s voices flooded the small space of the hallway, holding back the attackers.

Ron cried out in shock as a loud pop filled the air, a beast of a man appearing behind him, wand pressed to his temple. Draco moved as though on auto pilot, not giving them chance to think, a stunning spell hitting the man in the shoulder. He stumbled back and Ron found the time to break free, wasting no time in elbowing the wizard in the face for good measure. Draco nodded at him, and the gesture was returned.

Harry finally caught his breath when Hermione’s spell shot their intruders backwards into the hallway, crumpling to the floor like newspaper. All four of them advanced to the front door, breath held, looking over their shoulders at every noise, before bundling out into the quiet corridor leading up to Harry’s floor.

It was eerily silent.

“Where’s the rest of them?” Hermione asked, almost to herself.

“There’s more?” Harry responded, and his voice echoed across the building, despite it being quieter than a mouse.

“Why do you think we got here so quickly?” Hermione said. “I overheard one of them in the Ministry...they said they were going to bring every witch and wizard they could muster to take you both. I didn’t wait so much as a second before coming straight here.”

“Maybe there’s not as many as we thought,” Ron said, sounding like he didn’t trust his own words.

“We should be so lucky,” Draco said. “They’re toying with us.”

“Let’s get out of the building,” Harry said. “If they catch us in here, we’ll have no chance, there’s hardly room to breathe.”

“I should have brought more help,” Hermione said, regret filling her voice. “I shouldn’t-”

“We didn’t have _time_ , ‘mione. If we hadn’t come when we did, Merlin knows what would have happened,” Ron said, and Hermione nodded, falling quiet.

They moved down the stairs, wincing at every sound they made. Draco couldn’t help but keep his neck craned behind them, determined that at any second – someone would apparate behind them and end them then and there. Guilt and fear filled his every bone. All he wanted to do was apologise, to tell them to run and go and leave him, let him deal with his own mistakes.

He was about to speak up when Ron whispered to him, as though he could hear Draco’s thoughts. “We’re not going anywhere, Malfoy, so don’t say it.”

“I didn’t know you were a mind reader, Weasley.”

Ron smirked, shrugging. “You got that look on your face that Harry used to get when he was about to suggest something stupid.”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh a little, the sound hoarse and muffled beneath his fear. “I’m not quite that stupid, I can assure you.”

Ron grinned, but the look was soon replaced with stoic concentration as they reached the bottom of the staircase. All the lights in the building were out, and darkness filled the empty spaces. Tension seemed to move within it like a phantom, it’s presence growing with every step. Nothing. Not a sound, not a single movement – there was no sign of life at all. They opened the doors to the building and stepped out into the twilight.

Nothing.

Then, **_snap_**.

Voices erupted and hollered down the empty streets, wizard after wizard apparating into sight as though they’d been there all along. Spells exploded from either side and the only other noise was that of taunts or cries of surprise. Down they went, one by one, like cloaked bowling pins, falling into heaps or sailing across the street from invisible wrecking balls.

A spell clipped Hermione’s cheek and sent her reeling for a moment, and Ron was at her side in an instant to cover her. Draco called out as a haggard looking witch snuck to Harry’s blind side, casting a spell to knock her back when she looked ready to pounce.

The four of them became one.

They viewed the scene as though one entity, moved in when one of them stumbled, protected while one attacked. Their unity was astounding, and the angered faces of their attackers soon grew unsure - grew _scared_. It didn't matter that there were far more of them, they were losing ground, their erratic, chaotic anger no match for the four at all.

But all it took was one turn in the tide to have them hopeful again.

Ron was sent flying back into the building, and would have suffered far worse if Draco hadn’t have been so quick, spells flying out in such fast fury that it sent two wizards stumbling to the ground in hardly a moment at all. He ran over to Ron, trying to get him to his feet again, but Ron’s head was swimming and pain shot through his limbs like an electric shock.

Draco abandoned the idea, whirling round, staying by Ron’s side and fighting off all who came. Something clipped his shoulder and he lurched backwards, warmth oozing down his arm, doing his best to ignore it, trying not to let panic overcome him.

“There’s too many of them,” Harry cried out, hardly able to get the words out as he concentrated. “Hermione, you need to go get someone. _Anyone_. Get-”

Before Harry could even finish his thought, he felt an unfamiliar presence beside him and jolted, and would have been hit square in the face if Kingsley hadn’t have nudged him out of the way. The tide had turned again, and the rogue Death Eaters began to shout in fear and defeat as the Ministry arrived in full force.

“You’re not very good at following directions these days, are you, Harry?” Kingsley asked.

Harry was more stunned by the amusement in Kingsley’s voice than the spell that knocked him to the ground.


	16. A Thankful Resignation

It was hard to concentrate. 

Kingsley’s office seemed far away, distant, like Harry was simply looking on as a spectator somewhere high above them both. The back of his head was still throbbing with pain from where he’d slammed it against the pavement. There wasn’t a deep cut, or even a concussion, luckily enough, but it still ached like holy hell.

But that wasn’t what was distracting him. It wasn’t what made him ask Kingsley to repeat himself for what felt like the thousandth time. The simple fact was his head and his heart was not in that office anymore. His body was present, but his mind had detached itself with worry. 

Ron was in St. Mungo’s and had been drifting in and out of consciousness for the past couple of days. He was severely bruised, but the knock to his head had done the most damage – more than they’d first assumed. There had only been a subtle glow of recognition in his eyes when Hermione tried to rouse him from sleep, and she’d been near-inconsolable ever since.

Hermione herself had escaped with no more than a handful of cuts and bruises. Draco was resting up, having lost a lot of blood on the night from an injury to his shoulder. Harry could remember his slightly shocked face, paler than he'd ever been in his life, his silver eyes nothing but coins glinting, confused, against a blank canvas. 

Harry was smothered in guilt, drowning in it, even if they had got the result they wanted. He just hadn’t expected the risk to be quite so high, and for the danger to be on them so quickly. Harry, even for all his worrying, had completely missed the mark when it came to caution. He’d been too wrapped up in the comfort of Draco’s company, too wrapped up in his own feelings, rather than listening to his gut. 

That was probably why he wasn’t feeling a single emotion at Kingsley’s words, even if the Minister himself was dancing around what he needed to tell Harry as though he might crumble from any further disappointment and loss. 

“Harry...you have to understand that I’ve tried my best to cover you over the years you’ve worked here. You’re an excellent Auror, and if I could...I’d do things differently right now...but as it stands, I don’t think I can protect your position here. Not anymore.” 

Harry nodded blankly, not looking at Kingsley but through him, like he was shell-shocked. Kingsley abandoned his nervous pacing and settled back into his seat in front of the other man, leaning onto his desk as though for support. 

“Harry?” The Minister asked.

“Sir?” 

Kingsley shook his head, then shrugged. “You don’t seem very surprised...in fact, you’ve hardly said a word since you came in here.” 

“What about the others?” Harry interrupted. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Ron and Hermione, are they losing their jobs, too?” 

Kingsley sighed, assuming Harry’s question was from some bitter place rather than a concerned one, that he felt singled out. “As it stands...Ronald had actually put his notice in not a few days before this whole incident. He was due to leave in about a month’s time.” 

Harry laughed, but the sound was weak and tired. “Good on him. I’d have probably told him to myself if things had kept as quiet as they were. It was beginning to seem pointless. What about Hermione?” 

“It’s...complicated, Harry. I don’t want it to look as though we’re singling you out, because we’re not-” 

“Kingsley,” Harry sighed. “I don’t care. You and I both know I haven’t had my heart in this job for a long, long time. I think the novelty wore off after less than a year of it when the paperwork started piling up. I did it because I felt like I had to, and I kept doing because I felt like I had to. I never wanted to. I’m tired of it.” 

“Tired of it?” Kingsley said, slowly. He’d had many a doubt about Harry’s loyalty to the Ministry, but had never quite figured out why, never felt like it was his place to question whether Harry was right to be there long term. His anxieties about firing Harry lessened, and he leaned back in his seat, studying the young man. He was no longer frustrated, no longer worried - just curious. 

“It never felt like I was making a difference, Kingsley. Not in the long run. It’s all...short-sighted. I don’t know, exactly...like we’re just cleaning up messes rather than fixing the problem.” 

Kingsley laughed before closing his eyes and nodding. “Well, you know, Harry, that’s kind of what being an Auror _is._ ” 

“I know,” Harry smiled, almost sadly. “I should have broadened my horizon’s a little before jumping into the thick of it, but there wasn’t much of a choice at the time.” 

“I’m sorry, Harry.” 

“Sorry? For what?” 

Kingsley nodded again, as though mulling over some particularly complex thought. “We were so...keyed up. So ready to get this all behind us. Even for me, it just seemed natural to get you all on board, get you into the Ministry to help. I thought, perhaps, it might keep you all distracted. Keep that fire going so you didn’t have a minute to even think about all we’d lost. Truthfully, it only briefly crossed my mind that you might not want to. But as you said, there was never much of a choice. Not even for me. I hope you don’t hate me for it, Harry.” 

“I don’t,” Harry said, and meant it.

All the bitterness that had been building over the years, all the rotten complaints he’d had against the Ministry and what it was doing, was beginning to fall away. It had never been anyone’s fault. Not his. Not the Ministry’s. Certainly not Kingsley’s. They’d gone with the flow because there had been nothing else _but_ to do it. Harry had just held onto that for far too long. Only now was he opening his clenched hand, anger hidden inside of it, letting it drift away. 

“Maybe this is a blessing in disguise, then, letting you all go. This place is going to need more than a few replacements to make up for the talent we’re losing. I’ll admit that much.” Kingsley said. 

Harry felt a flush of panic rise within him. “You weren’t going to let Hermione go as well, were you?” 

“Like I said, Harry, it’s complicated. It’s caused quite the stir...rogue employee’s going against our usual practises and policies, not even listening to _me_. I don’t need to remind you what might have happened if we hadn’t caught wind of it all ourselves, it could have been more than a disaster.” 

“Hermione was never a part of it,” Harry lied. “Not really. Ron was on board with my stupid idea, _obviously_ , but Hermione ended up with us out of sheer dumb luck. She was working late and overheard one of the Death Eater’s giving the signal to head our way. She knew if she waited to let someone know it’d have been too late, so she found Ron and headed straight to us.” Harry said, voice fast and panicked. He was struck for a moment how familiar it felt, reeling off unbelievable excuses to his professor’s, knowing they weren’t entirely biting. 

Kingsley mulled over the words, and Harry felt like his heart might stop of he did it for much longer. His eyes were piercing like he was trying to detect even the slightest suggestion of guilt in Harry’s movements. After a moment, he smiled, eyes looking down to his desk and the stack of papers that were strewn across it. 

“Well, I have to say I’m glad to hear that.” Kingsley finally said.

Harry tried to discreetly let out the breath he’d been holding. 

“She’s an excellent witch, that Hermione...” Kingsley continued. “I would have hated to have to let her go. But if I have your word...” 

“You do,” Harry said. “I’d never tell a lie, Minister.” 

Kingsley laughed, loud and honest and warm, winking at Harry. “You’re wrong there, Harry, you just don’t tell lies very well. Regardless, I believe I’ll still take your word for it. I must admit, I’ve got my eye on Hermione for a higher position at some point...perhaps once I’ve gotten fed up with all this nonsense - if you know what I mean.” 

Harry’s face broke into the first genuine smile he’d had in days. “I think I do.” 

“Best not to mention it to her yet, though,” Kingsley said, and his face fell the slightest amount. “Are you sure there’ll be no hard feelings if I let you go?” 

“None at all.” 

“I could always find something else for you if you really need it. You know that much, don’t you?” 

“I appreciate it, Minister, but I think at the very least I need some fresh air from this place. I know I’m not cut out to be an Auror for the long run, but I don’t... _really_ know what I’m cut out for at all. Not yet.” 

“Then I’m afraid once you step out of this office, you’ll have resigned as an Auror for the Ministry of Magic,” Kingsley sighed. 

“You’re doing me a favour, trust me,” Harry said, his lips quirking into a smile. Kingsley raised an eyebrow at the cheek, but let it slide. 

“Now...” Kingsley started. “I suppose you’ve many a question for me, you’ve looked close to fidgeting off your seat for the past ten minutes.” 

“I suppose I have...I mean...well...what happens now?” 

“In what regard?” 

“Draco and his mother...are they returning to the Manor?” 

“Well,” Kingsley said, rubbing his chin for a moment. “The threat has been neutralised thanks to a very unorthodox and secretive mission that even _I_ wasn’t aware of...the culprits are due to stand trial in the following days and I have no doubt in my mind that they will be heading off to Azkaban to spend the remainder of their days. As such, I don’t see why Draco and Narcissa _shouldn’t_ return to their home and resume their lives as normal. Obviously, we’ll be putting some patrols in their area, just to be certain. I can’t see any further issues arising, however.” 

Harry felt a weight settle over his entire body, his stomach dropping to the floor so suddenly that he grew cold.

He knew, deep down, that this was exactly how things should turn out, that this was entirely the way they’d hoped to work out this whole mess. But at the same time, Harry had never felt more depressed or worried. He felt certain that the second Draco returned to the Manor, the relationship he’d built with him over the previous months would crumble into dust. He was certain, for a moment, that Draco would want nothing more than to try and forget everything they’d shared and worked through. 

But what else had he expected? For Draco to live with him for the rest of his life? They’d taken the risk so that Draco could have a choice, not for Harry to decide for him. And still, the uncertainty of what that even meant hit so deep it was enough to wind him. 

“Harry, are you alright?” Kingsley asked.

Harry blinked, and cleared his throat, pushing his concerns to the back of his mind. “Yeah, sorry...just zoned out for a minute, still feeling a little fuzzy.” 

“If you need to rest up don’t let me hold you back, Harry, we can come back to this another time.” 

“No, it’s fine, I just have a few more questions.” 

“If you’re sure?” 

“Kingsley...why _weren’t_ you looking into anything while we were holed up inside Grimmauld Place?” Harry spat out before he lost the nerve. 

Kingsley simply smirked and let out a low, rumbling laugh. “Now, what made you think we weren’t pursuing it?” 

Harry opened his mouth, ready to reel off a thousand reasons he had stored away, but Kingsley held out his hand – still smiling – and stopped him. 

“Our communication wasn’t great for a _reason,_ Harry. With how far ahead they got the first time, we weren’t taking a single chance. I wanted you as far away from the Ministry as I could manage, even if you did decide to drop by more than I’d like. Truth was, with that - I only had a handful of senior members I could safely say I’d trust with my own life, and with this issue, so progress was slow. _But_ it _was_ safe, and steady away.” 

“I still don’t understand why you had to hold back that much. You _know_ _how_ it must have seemed from our end, we thought you were just waiting for another attack, or trying to pretend it didn’t happen.” 

“And _you_ _must_ know that I’d never be that complacent.” Kingsley said, and his words were not angry – but stern

Harry felt a brief wave of shame to have doubted the Minister so much before, but still, he felt somewhat betrayed, like he was still no more than a child wrapped up in things children shouldn't be exposed to.

Kingsley continued. “Not so much as a few hours after the initial attack at the Manor, I knew we had a bigger problem within Ministry walls than we realised. It explained enough...how they were always just out of reach, how a few of our smaller busts had gone astray over the past year. Even when Thomas first disappeared into thin air, we were _still_ having issues. Information leaked out...any information _we were_ given ran into dead ends. I couldn’t so much as risk one wrong word going out." 

Harry let out a breath and swallowed down the anger that had tried, and failed, to rise within him. “There’s being cautious, and there’s keeping us in the dark, Kingsley. You know how that’s been for me before.” 

“I know, Harry, and I can only apologise for that, but it was necessary.” 

“So...where did you end up with it all, then?” 

Kingsley smiled again, almost sheepishly. “Well, in all honesty, we went down a very similar path to what you and Ronald decided to do. I will give myself credit for being far more tactful, however.” 

“You were trying to lure them out?” 

“Well, we were trying to identify exactly who was leaking information first. Like I said before, it was a slow process, but bit by bit we were gathering a list of suspects and we were hoping to apprehend them as we went on, to get more information out of them than we did with Thomas...he didn't give us anything, didn't so much as flinch when he realised he'd be going to Azkaban...like he didn't feel a thing anymore. We were adamant some of the others would be more loose-tongued, so to speak."

Harry ran a hand across his face, and Kingsley mistook it for frustration at first, until Harry let the hand drop and instead was shaking his head ruefully. “So, if we’d have waited...” 

“You’d have been waiting a long time, admittedly.” 

“But it would have been _safer_. We could have avoided all of this.” 

“There was always a danger, Harry, whether you got involved or not. I think it’s best we take this victory as it is and not dwell on what could have gone even worse. I’m humble enough to admit that without your involvement, we might never have driven them all out to begin with.” 

Harry nodded but said no more, silence filling the room. It was not tense, or anxious - it was understanding. The dust was beginning to settle, and though things had not turned out as Harry had expected, or wanted, the truth was simple and sweet – it was over. The journey had become meaningless in comparison to what they'd gained.

That was enough. 

And yet, one more question still hung in Harry’s mind. 

“Kingsley?” 

“Yes, Harry?” 

“Before I go...who tipped you off that night?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“How did you know where _they_ were? Where _we_ _were_? If you hadn’t have arrived when you did, we might have been in a lot more trouble. It just seems...” 

“Convenient?” Kingsley smiled. “You forget, Harry, that I know what you three are like.” 

~-*-~

Draco slipped out of his dream slowly. He couldn’t recall much of it, but he remembered how warm it was. Sunlight. Sunlight had been settled over his skin and he could smell fresh flowers, grass cool and soothing against his back. Someone had been running fingers through his hair and speaking, but the voice had faded as soon as it arrived, and the sunlight had died away to the painfully white walls of his hospital room. 

For a second, he refused to come to terms with reality, trying to grasp desperately to the dream and rebuild it in his head. There had been a cottage of some kind, he was sure of that. Though it was built with ancient bricks it held none of the coldness that the Manor did. It had been inviting. Homely. Wild, chaotic foliage had smothered the grounds in great tendrils, the hum of bees cutting through the silence. 

It took him a long moment to realise Hermione was there, eyes pinned to the book in front of her. Draco shuffled and sat up, shrugging away his wandering thoughts, and her eyes caught his, smiling brightly. 

“You’re awake,” She said, closing the book. 

“Barely,” Draco mumbled. “Don’t tell me I’ve been out for days again, or I really will be annoyed.” 

Hermione laughed and shook her head. “No, just for a few hours this time. I think you’d just dropped off when I arrived.” 

“How’s Ron?” Draco asked, rubbing his temples gingerly. 

“Sleeping still, but I think he’s going to be okay. He keeps coming to for a few minutes at a time, the nurses said in a few more days he’ll be back to normal, he’s just a little beat up. Needs to rest.” 

Draco let out a relieved breath. “Good. I’m...I’m glad he’s alright.” 

A brief silence passed over them, but Hermione shuffled in her seat, agitated and restless. Before Draco could open his mouth again, she finally spoke, the words rushed and almost stern.

“I came to thank you,” Hermione said. 

Draco furrowed his brow, filing through a hundred muddy thoughts, finding it hard to piece them together and wonder what he was being praised for. “Thank me?”

“Yes. For looking after him.” 

Draco felt his face flush a little, unsure of what to say, toying with the edge of his bedsheet. “There's no need...from what I saw, Weasley is more than capable of looking after himself.” 

Hermione chuckled a little. “Yes, he is, for the most part. But that doesn’t mean he’d have,” She swallowed, emotion beginning to catch up with her. “It doesn’t mean that if you hadn’t have intervened he’d still be okay. I dread to think how things would have turned out if you hadn’t been there with us. We wouldn't have had a chance.” 

Draco wanted to accept the sentiment but found it hard. Guilty thoughts flooded him again and he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. He bit back his response for a moment, taking a second to breathe. He wondered what Harry might say to reassure him and he let the voice fill his head, let it push away the idea that this was all his fault to begin with.

The voice reminded him that they’d all been in agreement, that they all wanted to help, that the details didn’t matter anymore because they were all relatively safe and sound. He managed, with great strain, to ignore that niggling part of his brain that wanted to blame himself and refuse the kindness. He moved on from it. He let it go. They weren't his enemies anymore, or strangers. They were as close to friends as he'd ever really gotten, and friends didn't point fingers or curse each other for the trouble they got into. They were there even in the darkest moments, where it seemed like the sun might never rise again.

“You don’t have to thank me for that, I’m sure that any of you would have done the same,” Draco said, voice quiet and tentative. “I’m glad he’s alright.” He repeated. 

He caught Hermione’s eye, and she smiled, eyes watering but features bright and glad. Draco didn’t even flinch as she moved to his bedside, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing as tight as she dared. 

“It was very stupid of you, regardless,” She mumbled into his hair, and Draco laughed, rubbing her back tentatively – remembering exactly why he liked Hermione so much

“Harry must be influencing me a little too much,” Draco responded, and he noticed how Hermione wiped her eyes bashfully as she pulled away, suddenly seeming exhausted. He realised then that she probably hadn't slept properly in days, anxiously waiting for Ron to perk up.

“I think he is,” She said, grabbing her book and putting her seat away slowly. “You know what’s quite funny?” 

“Go on,” Draco replied.

“I always did think you and Harry would get on if you could ever stop bickering.” 

Draco’s stomach flipped, but he couldn’t help but smile. "We never really stopped bickering, to be fair..."

Hermione smiled knowingly.


	17. When Words Fail

Draco couldn’t recall the last time he’d experienced tension so thick. 

It was utterly suffocating, _devastating_ , because even Harry, this time, seemed powerless to try and cut through it. It hung like smoke, filled their lungs, and Draco had to force calm onto his own face. He hated it. Hated how he could almost feel the smooth lines of his well-worn mask pressing down onto his skin. But he hadn’t even begun to learn how to deal with this. The concept of going home had been a thousand miles away and now it was here, it seemed there was no proper way to react to it. 

It felt like he was stepping back in time. Going infinitely backwards, his future more obscure and lifeless than ever. 

Harry hung around like a ghost in the doorway to his own bedroom, watching as Draco reluctantly worked at gathering his things, his wand feeling heavy and useless in his hand, like all the life, all the magic, had been sucked right out of him. The air filled with idle conversation, but it fell flat and died away in no time at all. There was no use trying to lighten the mood. No use pretending – their hearts were too heavy to even manage that. 

Draco let his eyes wander over the scuffed wardrobe, one of its doors hanging open like a broken wing, tried to imprint the feel of the bedsheets into his fingertips, as though if he tried hard enough some unbreakable connection would be formed to him and the flat.

Soon enough, though, Draco’s things were packed, and he sat on the edge of the bed staring out of the window, imagining those great looming eyes of the Manor’s own windows, how they’d peer and squint down on him as he arrived back home. Even the rush of warmth that filled him knowing his Mother was safe and home and happy again couldn’t brush away the chill that kept creeping back like frost. 

“Everything sorted?” Harry asked, voice frighteningly quiet. 

“Seems to be,” Draco said, a lump building in his throat. He swallowed past it and turned his head from his spot on the mattress, tried to look at Harry, but found that catching his eyes was an impossible task. Harry seemed to realise and moved slowly to the opposite side of the bed, sitting down with his back flush against Draco's own, as though he couldn’t quite stomach looking at him, either. 

They stayed there for a long moment, listened to the distant calls of birds settling down for the evening, listened to the gentle rustle of each other's clothes as they fidgeted, listening to the barely-there breaths that passed by. Waiting. Wanting to speak and scared to, like if they spoke again it would make the change real. Like something would end. Draco urged himself to talk, to say anything at all, felt his muscles tense in the effort, felt it build as though speech was no longer natural to him. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to speak to Kingsley?” Draco asked, feeling, rather than seeing, how Harry’s head cocked to the side to listen to him. 

“About what?” 

“Your job. It was my fault you lost it, after all.” 

Harry chuckled a little. “No, don’t bother. It was a mutual agreement more than anything.” 

“I’m surprised you’re not more upset about it.” 

Harry paused and took a deep breath. “There's more important things to be upset about, I suppose.” 

Draco felt his words disappear again, and instead he let out a sigh, running a hand through his own hair. 

“I suppose you’ll be glad to have your own space again,” Harry mumbled, though he knew his own words were nothing more than bait, tentatively trying to pry away his own worries that were stacking up to the ceiling, hoping Draco would prove him wrong. “And you won’t have to put up with my horrible cups of tea anymore.” 

Draco let out a whisper of a laugh, and though he still felt heavy with sadness, a gentle smile crept onto his face. “I guess not. You _were_ getting better, admittedly.” 

“And I’ll have to work out how much I need to pay you for redecorating Grimmauld Place,” Harry said, moving back a fraction more so he could bump Draco’s back gently, knowing he was still a little bruised and sore. “If I’d have known you were trying to bankrupt me, I might not have let you stay.” 

“You can’t put a price on good taste...and you can’t fool me, Potter, I doubt you’ll step foot back in that place again.” 

“What makes you say that?” 

Draco shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like a place you'd settle down. Never would have, no matter how much you dress it up.” 

“Yeah, I guess so...” Harry replied, mulling over his words. “I don’t reckon the Manor suits you anymore, either. I can't imagine you spending the rest of your life there.” 

Draco nodded, but didn’t reply. Harry couldn’t stop the words from coming out any longer, didn’t dare stop them in case they never came out at all.

“You know...you could stay, if you wanted,” Harry said, blunt and so sure that it was that simple, even when his head knew it wasn’t at all. 

“Really, now?” Draco replied, humour lacing his voice.

“I might even let you redecorate,” Harry smiled. 

“How kind. And where would you sleep?” 

“In here.” 

“Right. And where would I sleep?” 

“...in here,” Harry said, biting back a laugh, unable to hold it back as Draco elbowed him. “Well, you can’t expect me to sleep on the sofa forever.” 

“As nice as that would be, you know I can’t.” 

“I know,” Harry sighed. “It’s just gunna be weird without you, I guess.” 

Draco felt something around his heart squeeze for a moment and, finally, he grudgingly got to his feet, looking back at Harry and trying not to notice the disappointment lingering in his eyes. In a different world, he would have stayed in a heartbeat, wouldn’t have even thought to pack his things. But his Mother still needed him, the Manor still called with its blood ties, and Draco knew that above everything – he needed to give himself some time. 

He needed to figure out where he was going in life, even if the path ahead was one long, terrifying shadow to him. He needed to figure out who he was now the brick wall that had been hemming him in had begun to fall away. All he could do was hope that people would wait around for him while he worked it out. Strangely, he feared losing Hermione, and even Ron, almost as much as he feared losing Harry.

Even more strange was how little that shocked him.

Harry helped Draco to the door with his few belongings, his flat feeling emptier by the second, and couldn’t help but smile as Draco stood in the hallway looking more lost than ever. Still, something had changed in the man, and though Harry couldn’t put his finger on it – it was something good, like a fire was burning away inside of Draco, the embers stoked, refusing to fade away to ash. But still so very unsure. 

They locked eyes and Harry didn’t hesitate as Draco moved forward, arms wrapping around him as tight as he dared, pressing his face against the other’s neck, willing himself to remember that this wasn’t the end of a chapter. Not if he had anything to do with it. 

“You’re not going to forget I exist now, are you?” Harry said, his voice muffled, and he felt Draco laugh. 

“Annoyingly, you’re not the type of person to be forgotten easily,” Draco said. 

“Good, because I might have to resort to throwing stones at your window at night and serenading you, otherwise.” 

“It's to be hoped you’ve got a good throwing arm, then, I don’t think you quite recall how high those bloody windows are.” 

Harry pulled away, hands settling at Draco’s sides, not fully letting go. “I’m being serious, though. You’re not going to disappear on me, are you?” 

“No, I’m not,” Draco said, seriously. “I've had enough of hiding away, I think.” 

“Good,” Harry said, grinning, letting go of the other and trying to step away. 

Before he could, Draco leaned forward again, pressing his lips against the other’s cheek.

Harry felt his chest flutter, a suffocating sense of longing overcoming him, and before he could even contemplate another thought, his hands moved up to cup the other's face, and he tilted his head to capture Draco’s lips against his own - and it was the most natural thing in the world.

Draco responded without hesitation, cautious and gentle, but very much there. Harry felt Draco's cool hands move to his neck, fingers running across his jawline as his head tilted, pressing deeper into the kiss. Neither could understand, truly, how it felt. It was like a confirmation. A flicker of a promise. As though all of this had been utterly inevitable.

A wave of relief and excitement washed over Harry, almost dizzying in its intensity, and only fully receding as Draco pulled away. Harry had to stop himself from following. He nudged Draco's cheek with his nose as though pining for more, felt the other’s breath tickle his face as he huffed out a small laugh, watched as heat crept up Draco’s pale features, and felt both elated and frightened in equal measures. 

Harry wanted nothing more than to keep Draco there, stood in the fading light of the hallway, and to pretend Draco’s belongings weren’t scattered at the doorway, ready to leave. He wanted to tug Draco back into that cluttered living room, have him curl up on the tattered sofa, feel the weight of him pressed into Harry’s side as they drifted off or talked or bickered about nothing at all.

An idea hit Harry, then, so powerful and blinding that it caused a wave of heat to rise from his feet to the top of his head – that he would love nothing more than to wake up every morning to the sight of this man. A man he’d hated for so many years. A man he’d managed to see inside and out, vulnerable and trying and proud. With the way Draco looked at him, Harry thought the same idea might have been swimming behind those silver eyes, too.

But, soon enough, Draco let the hands rubbing soothing circles into Harry’s neck fall. The meek, almost coy look on Draco’s face so unlike his usual Malfoy scowl, that Harry felt affection surge up to the surface again. Still, he let the other go, watching as Draco collected his things, very few words passing between them. When Draco finally walked out of the door, he smiled, and Harry returned it – both trying not to let the disappointment reach their eyes. 

When Harry next blinked, Draco was gone. 

The unknown stretched out before Harry, almost tangible in its presence, and he shut the door behind him hard - as though to block the notion out. Still, as he slumped onto the sofa and stared up at the ceiling, noticing the empty space around him, listening to nothing but silence – he couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with excitement and hope. 

And fear could never ruin that.

~-*-~

Narcissa’s bright smile seemed to outweigh Draco’s pain, if only for a moment. 

She had aged, that much was clear, but in its place was a peace that she’d been lacking for years. Something had softened in her eyes, her hair was down and no longer razor-straight or in a heavy-handed bun, but waved and natural. Relaxed. Draco saw in her what he was beginning to see in himself, a distance from his past, sins admitted and laid to rest - as much as they could be. Her posture was still painfully stiff, but when she met him at the Manor gates and held him, it was with such a genuine love that Draco felt his heart nearly stop. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” She whispered, voice muffled in the embrace, and something about her tone sounded close to tears. 

Draco rubbed her back, consoling, knowing how much she must have been fretting over him. He could only imagine how furious she would have been when she realised she hadn’t been told about Draco’s visit to St. Mungo’s until he was already discharged, could imagine Ministry officials trying to calm her almost murderous motherly instinct and explain how they had to be sure everything was truly over before they let them meet again. 

Months of silence and worry that had seemed to drag on for a lifetime, and now it felt as though it had passed in the blink of an eye.

Narcissa finally released him, hands coming up to clutch his face as though checking to see it really was her boy, before she smiled, eyes watering, and let him go – almost embarrassed of herself. They walked up the path to the Manor as though savouring the fresh air and, in reality, they were. Narcissa began to fume over how little she’d been told, how in the dark she’d felt, how terrified she’d been for him, and Draco listened along – almost soothed by the normalcy of her indignation. 

The Manor loomed over as it always did - and Draco’s heart ached at the sight of it.

He looked up at the ancient walls and its intimidating spires, peered at windows that felt like eyes to him and tried not to let his fear overcome his senses. He told himself it was not a sign, that this was not stepping back into old shoes, that it was not hiding away again. It was a house. Nothing more, nothing less. Not a symbol or an omen, but a barrier that Draco had once made himself, one that he wouldn’t put up again, and one that could be knocked down if ever he did. 

Strangely, Narcissa seemed to sense something was wrong. Her voice trailed away into the brisk, evening air and she followed Draco’s gaze to the highest windows – and knew in her entire being some of what he felt. Her hand came up to rest on her son’s arm and when he looked at her, questioning, she smiled, trying with all her heart to convey some comfort to him. 

Draco’s features softened and he returned the smile, suddenly feeling very tired. The months seemed to run at him in a tidal wave. Though his Mother only understood a fraction of his pain, and Merlin only knew how he’d explain some of that pain to her, the acknowledgement was enough to lift a massive weight from his shoulders. 

When he looked back to the Manor a second time, he did not see a prison with a hundred cruel, glass eyes. But he did not see a home, either, with worn furniture and mismatched trinkets and warm afternoon soon drifting through the windows. But he saw something almost as sweet. 

A start. 


	18. Visiting Hours

“I don’t quite see what the problem is,” Draco said, not in his usual drawl but slightly concerned. 

He stood in the kitchen of the Manor, feeling somewhat out of place and awkward in his own skin. Narcissa simply looked on at her son, brow drawn low, scrutinizing Draco as though he might have caught some kind of illness, or that he wasn’t entirely healed up from his last trip to St. Mungo’s. 

“There isn’t a problem, I suppose. I’m just more than a little confused as to why you want to go out of your way to visit him,” Narcissa said, and Draco had to be thankful for the slightly cautious tone to her Mother’s words.

At the very least she wasn’t _trying_ to be difficult or abrasive. Still, he could understand her confusion. For the past few years, Draco had not so much as attempted to contact any of his acquaintances from Hogwarts, people he’d once vaguely thought he might remain friends with for the remainder of his life to varying degrees. 

Now he was asking to check in on someone who he’d insisted he hated throughout his life. That his family had hated out of principal. A _Weasley_ , no less. 

Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair and he was hard put not to notice the way his Mother’s nose wrinkled as he messed it up. He couldn’t help but think of Harry for a moment, yet another habit that had someone wriggled its way into Draco’s subconscious. He cut the thought off quickly, feeling warmth rise in his face, not exactly ready to cross that boundary with Narcissa yet. She might have a heart attack. 

“Look, I know it seems...ridiculous. But...we owe them a fair bit. All of them helped to get us back here, and Ron paid for that more than any of us, in a way. Last I heard, he still wasn’t even fully conscious. I’d like to go back and make sure he’s at least getting better,” Draco said, his voice quiet. 

Narcissa sat back in her chair, the same chair where Harry had visited all those months ago, delivering possibly the worst advice he could have imagined at the time. This time, though, Narcissa’s expression melted into something more agreeable, less on guard, and Draco was reminded yet again how much he respected the woman. Never losing her composure, never letting go of her dignity, but willing to grow with it, instead. He couldn’t lose sight of that, imperfections and all. 

“I understand, to a degree. A lot has changed over the years, hasn’t it?” 

“Especially now,” Draco reminded her. 

Narcissa nodded, and Draco watched a flicker of a smile come over her that soon changed into something more keen – sly, almost. Draco braced himself. 

“Are you at least going to change into something more presentable? You look like you’ve just rolled out of bed.” She said, hiding her amused expression into her cup of tea. 

Draco rolled his eyes, feeling almost like a teenager again, and huffed. “It’s comfortable,” He responded, indignant. 

“Yes, it looks it.” 

Draco huffed out a laugh and turned to leave the kitchen, debated changing, and fought against the urge. 

If Harry couldn’t get his grey jumper back himself, his Mother certainly wouldn’t win that war for him, either. 

~-*-~

Draco had expected that arriving at St. Mungo’s would be somewhat frightening, like in the few days that his life had resumed its usual pace things would have already changed.

But his heart remained as steady as ever, his nerves didn’t thrum with anxious energy, and he did not feel half as self-conscious as he feared whilst making his way to Ron’s hospital room. Still, he lingered at the door for a moment, trying to listen out to see if there was anyone else visiting. He didn’t want to intrude if any of Ron's family was there, definitely didn’t feel up to facing that fear for a long time, if ever, and didn’t want to interrupt if Hermione was with him. 

A medi-witch turned the corner and began to make her way towards him, and Draco snapped out of his own head. He opened the door and peeked inside – and was only met with Ron’s confused face staring back at him. Draco cleared his throat, suddenly at a loss of what to say, even if he had been rehearsing lines to himself for what felt like the past week. 

“Am I...am I alright to come in?” Draco asked, the words sounding ridiculous even to his own ears.

He inwardly cringed and felt his anxiety rising as Ron said nothing. He was far too used to having Hermione there as the glue between them, it was bizarre to be alone with him to any degree. Soon enough though, Ron’s own head seemed to kick into gear and his mouth opened and closed silently for a moment, before speaking. 

“Yeah, of course. Hermione’s just left to eat, actually, was wondering when I’d next get a visitor,” Ron babbled, and Draco was soothed to find that at least he wasn’t the only one that felt odd. 

Draco shut the door behind him and pulled out a chair, settling down onto it. “I don’t suppose you were expecting to see me.” 

“Did I look that shocked?” Ron laughed, and Draco smiled back at him. 

“You looked as though you’d seen a ghost, frankly,” 

“Near enough. No offence, Draco, but coming from a red-head - even _you_ _look_ too pale.” 

Draco’s own laughter caught him off guard, and his hand came up to his mouth instinctively as though to try and stop it. When Ron joined him, he didn’t even try to hold it back. 

“And here’s me thinking I was being nice checking in on you,” Draco said.

“That’s your mistake, mate, not mine.” 

“How are you, anyway?” Draco asked, cautiously. “Last news I had, you weren’t even properly awake.” 

“Could be worse,” Ron shrugged. “Back’s been killing me if I’m honest, but I can at least keep my eyes open for more than an hour.” 

Draco’s features softened, and Ron must have noticed because he was quick to talk again, as though not wanting to make the other feel guilty. 

“I’m sure I’ll be out of here in no time, though,” Ron added. “Though it’s probably a good job I handed my notice in, reckon I’ll be better off working at the shop with George, now.” 

Draco winced and Ron gulped, hand moving to the back of his neck to rub it. 

“Would you believe I’m genuinely not trying to make you feel guilty?” Ron asked, sheepishly. 

Draco let out a small laugh. “Truthfully, you could have stayed quiet and I’d have still felt guilty about it-” 

“Don’t,” Ron said, sharply. “If anything, you were a bloody godsend that night.” 

The words came out rushed, as though Ron was pulling off a plaster, but Draco knew they were coming from a good place. He smiled and shook his head. 

“Only you lot could thank me for nearly getting you killed.” 

“Would've all happened sooner or later, though, wouldn’t it?” Ron said, plainly. “Me and Harry would have ended up on their tails one day. If anything, I’m glad it worked out the way it did...even if my back is buggered.” 

“You sound like an old man,” Draco mumbled, and felt a strange pride in how Ron laughed, as though they’d always been childhood friends. Draco decided he could settle for just friends, though, even if the idea of it almost made him dizzy. 

“Well, I might not feel like one if someone-” 

“Finish that sentence and I’ll gladly slip back into old habits, Weasley,” Draco said, though his smile betrayed any heat that may have once been there. Ron grinned, and shuffled in his bed, wincing slightly. 

Draco had only intended to stay for half an hour, but before he knew it, the morning sun was slipping across the room in bright arcs, and Ron was desperately trying to convince Draco to share some of the sweets he’d been gifted over the past few days. Draco declined but felt weirdly flattered that someone as food motivated as Ron was willing to offer, even if he did look relieved when Draco refused the sweets. 

“You’re missing out,” Ron gestured to a paper bag filled with something that smelt like it was made entirely from butter and honey. “Those ones were from Mum. She’s gotten a little too good at making fudge. Don’t know how I stay so trim these days.” 

Draco snorted and shook his head. “Yes, it’s a complete mystery.” 

“We’ll have less of that, especially now I’m crippled,” Ron smirked, and though Draco knew it was a joke he was keenly aware of how much Ron was mentioning his back injury. He had an awful suspicion there’d been more damage than he was letting on. Still, Draco tried not to let it dampen his mood, and certainly didn’t want to risk dampening Ron’s while he was stuck in the same four-walls for Merlin knew how much longer. 

Soon enough, though, Draco was aware of how long he’d stayed and slowly got up from his seat. 

“Well, I’ll let you get some rest. I’ve got to head back.” 

“No worries,” Ron smiled. “Hermione’ll be back soon, I think. I’ll let her know you visited.” 

He smiled and nodded, and Ron made one last attempt to offer him some fudge at the door, Draco only rolled his eyes and laughed, firmly announcing he was fine to go without. 

He felt decidedly light as he walked through the maze-like wards and the smile on his face felt close to a permanent fixture. Draco wandered as though in a daze, a mantra running in his head of how he’d made another step, another slither of progress, and the concept of returning to the Manor again did not so much as fill him with a fraction of dread, but seemed to him more like a symbol, now.

How many more times could he step into that place and choose to come back out? 

Draco’s thoughts were knocked clean out of his head as someone bumped into him, and a hand reached out to grab his arm, practically knocking him straight into the wall. Another hand came out as though to steady him, and an insult was seconds away from leaving Draco’s mouth when a warm laugh filled the air, and the words never had chance to leave. 

“Hello, stranger,” Harry said, grinning ear-to-ear, and Draco felt his stomach flutter. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

Draco rolled his eyes but the flush in his cheeks betrayed him. “Do you always try to woo people by manhandling them?” 

“No,” Harry smirked, one of his hands drifting down, ghosting fingers across Draco’s hand for a moment as though inspecting him. He had the cheek to look almost shy. “But is it working?” 

Draco scoffed. “I’m not quite that easily pleased.” 

“Good, I like a challenge,” Harry laughed, and he moved further to the side, a witch hurrying her way down the corridor beside them. Harry finally let go of Draco’s arm and leant against the wall to get out of people’s way, but Draco couldn’t help but notice just how close he was. “What’re you doing here, anyway? You alright?” 

“I’m fine,” Draco said. “I just came to see how Ron was doing.” 

A flicker of surprise ran across Harry’s face, but there was something close to pride and excitement hanging there with it. “How is he?” 

Draco debated saying he was fine, but his thoughts still lingered on how uncomfortable Ron seemed to be, how much he wanted to joke about his injuries rather than outright say he was in pain. Harry’s brow furrowed as Draco began to look concerned. 

“I think his back hurts more than he’s letting on, but for the most part he’s okay, all considered.” 

“Yeah, Hermione told me they were having problems getting his back right. We’ve kind of all been hoping it’ll get better with time, but...well, we’ll see,” Harry said, running a hand up to his hair and fussing with it. 

Soon enough, the worry in his face faded away and he turned his attention back to Draco, not able to hide how happy he was to see the other - he practically glowed with it. “I’m glad I stumbled into you, anyway, I’m surprised I recognise you anymore.” 

“Oh, yes, because it’s been _years._ ” 

“Too long, whatever it is. How’re you holding up at home?” 

Draco shrugged. “It’s just strange, I suppose. My mother’s a lot happier. Too many empty rooms, though.” 

"Tell me about it, even my place feels empty,” Harry said, laughing to hide his embarrassment. “Don’t know how I’m gunna go on.” 

“I’m sure you’ll survive somehow, Potter.” 

Harry made a noise that said he wasn’t convinced but didn’t want to push Draco’s buttons more than he dared, knew that he needed to give him space even if it was already leaving him restless. 

“I suppose I better go see Ron, then. Will you, uh, be visiting him again soon, or?” 

Draco shook his head. “If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times - you’d have made an awful Slytherin.” 

“What’s that got to do with it?” 

“You’re not subtle at all. _Yes_ , I’ll be visiting him again. And _yes,_ you will probably bump into me.” 

Harry raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I never mentioned that at all.” 

"You’re only kidding yourself,” Draco said, moving away from the wall and straightening up. 

“That obvious?” 

“Painfully so, yes.” 

Harry didn’t argue, only looked at Draco with those striking green eyes, his hand once again returning to the other’s arm and tugging on the fabric there to coax him forward a fraction. "I never did get this jumper back, did I?" Harry mumbled, not paying attention to Draco's clothing at all, but inching forward, his eyes flickering down to Draco's mouth for a second. Draco didn't even consider pulling away, didn't even hesitate before tilting his head up - but before either could make another move, a familiar voice drifted down the corridor towards them. 

“Harry?” 

Draco nearly pulled a muscle as he looked behind him to see Hermione walking briskly towards them both, a broad smile across her face. 

“Hello, Draco. Are you visiting Ron as well?” 

Draco somehow managed to will away the heat in his cheeks, Harry’s hand dropping from his arm quickly. “Actually, I’ve just been to see him. Harry happened to barge into me on my way out.” 

Harry gave him a betrayed look, and Draco was amused to find Harry’s face was tinged pink, not hiding the embarrassment half as well as he was.

“I'm sure he was happy to see you, he’s been climbing up the walls in there,” Hermione said, slowly, looking between the two as though she was trying to put together a vaguely challenging puzzle, one corner of her mouth twitching up as though biting back a smirk. Harry knew in every fibre of his being what she was doing and felt a strange wave of panic rush over him, knowing a conversation was coming – one he hadn’t been prepared to have that day. 

“Well, we’ll see you around,” Harry said solemnly, his eyes filled with disappointment as he watched Draco say his goodbyes and continue down the corridor. 

Draco looked back to find Hermione clinging onto Harry’s arm, whispering excitedly. 

Harry looked exceptionally defeated, but a bashful grin had crept back onto his face as he tried, and failed, to avoid Hermione’s questioning. 


	19. Convincing Narcissa

Cracks were beginning to form. 

Draco hadn’t noticed it so much at first, he’d been much too wrapped up in his own head, like he was looking out onto the world with fresh eyes. But Narcissa’s initial relief had steadily declined into concerned frowns and wringing hands every time Draco announced that he was leaving the Manor to visit Ron. He’d spent countless hours mulling over why, not sure how to bring it up to her in the first place, a part of him always brushing it off as paranoia, his anxiety playing its age-old tricks with him. 

But as he returned from his visit that day, warmth still blooming in his stomach from yet another brief encounter with Harry as he was making his way home, Narcissa’s solemn gaze at him from her spot in the kitchen had left him feeling cold. His brow furrowed as he moved into the room, hardly batting an eye as his Mother raised her wand to brew him a drink, the china clicking together almost musically. He slipped into the seat opposite her, desperately trying to read her expression. 

“Something the matter?” Draco asked, voice slow and careful. 

Narcissa blinked at him slowly, as though not understanding, before she let her emotions cave in and let out a sigh, deep and aching. A delicate finger ran around the rim of her cup, her features painfully open and bare to him. Though the concern confused him greatly, he was still thankful for finally having access beyond the mask they’d both been inclined to wear over the years. 

“How much longer do you suppose you’ll be visiting that Weasley boy?” She asked, and Draco cringed at how non-descript her allusion to Ron was, like he was a piece of furniture rather than another person. 

“For however long it takes Ron to get better, I suppose. He’s not far off from being discharged...but even then, I’d imagine I might see him otherwise.” 

“What about the others? Potter and that Granger girl?” 

Draco felt his face flush as though he was guilty of something, like his Mother had discovered he’d been keeping some childish secret from her, seeing friends she’d once deemed as common or unfitting for a Malfoy to associate with. It was far too close to old memories. As much as he hoped she didn’t spot how his face burned, the eyebrow that twitched upwards on her face said otherwise. 

“I would imagine I’ll be seeing them more often, too,” Draco said, voice dry. He sipped at his drink, not caring how much it burnt his tongue and throat. 

“Why?” Narcissa asked, blankly. 

“Why?” Draco repeated, narrowing his eyes and scrutinising his Mother. “Why wouldn’t I? They’re...friends, after all,” The words still felt awkward in Draco’s mouth, but his heart squeezed tightly at the notion. 

“Friends?” It was Narcissa’s turn to repeat their words, and her tone had taken on something soft. Like Draco really was a small boy and she was trying to explain some truth to him, a painful one that even she didn’t agree with, but something that was a fact for them, nonetheless. “Draco, I know they did well by us, but I’m just...I’m at a loss.” 

“I don’t quite see what’s so confusing about it, Mother.” 

“Those people have never been friends of yours...after all this, you think you can trust them? Why now?” 

Draco could feel anger rising within him. He’d hoped this was a conversation that would never come to pass, that they wouldn’t need to address it, but it seemed not every old habit could be shaken off overnight. He leant back in his chair and took in a breath, willing his muscles to loosen. 

“I trust them because I’ve no reason to think overwise.” 

“I’m just worried, Draco. I don’t give away my trust to people so easily, nevermi-” 

“And I don’t either,” Draco interrupted, something Narcissa might have once scolded him for. She stayed quiet. “They’ve earnt it, and I’m willing to take the risk of regretting my decision to trust them…to trust _anyone_ , for that matter.” 

Narcissa pursed her lips, biting back another stream of worry, before nodding, mostly to herself. “Well, I suppose I can’t decide what you want to do. All I can do is tell you to be careful.” 

Draco pushed his cup away from him, debating what to say, knowing that if he let himself fall into a lecture now, it’d do no good. He debated for a long moment, Narcissa’s gaze wandering to the window again, before he spoke up. “The world doesn’t hate us. There's a few good people out there who understand...you can trust them as well, you know.” 

“I’ve yet to see evidence of that,” Narcissa whispered. 

Draco stayed with her for a while, the conversation turning to more mundane things, and soon enough Narcissa seemed to relax and forget anything had been troubling her at all. But Draco’s mind was working, not tying itself into anxious knots, but as though it was working away at a riddle. Draco knew an answer was in there, somewhere, hiding away and eluding him. 

He would find it if it killed him. 

~-*-~

Hermione pressed a hand to her chest, willing her heartbeat to stop thrumming wildly against her chest like a pissed-off bludger. She let out a sigh, the air leaving her in one painful swoop before her eyes looked up the ceiling, willing some higher being to have mercy on her. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack," She scolded. 

Draco stood in the middle of her living room, looking sheepish and bashful, looking at anything but Hermione.

He took in the neat contents of the Weasley-Granger home as though it had been years since he’d stepped foot in there, and his heart ached strangely, almost with envy. He was already very tired of the Manor’s cold floors and even colder décor, it was like living in a dungeon. He watched as she stormed past him and into the kitchen, all but launching her bag onto the counter and running hands through her hair to smooth it down. She looked absolutely frazzled. 

“I can come back another time,” Draco suggested, meekly. 

“Don’t be stupid, sit down,” She said, and Draco listened, settling down into one of the stools in their kitchen clumsily, watching as she made them a drink. 

His mouth opened and closed, not knowing where to start or whether to interrupt Hermione at all. Eventually, he closed his mouth, cupping a drink between his hands and staring into it, only then feeling stupid at the way he’d barged into someone else’s home. But he’d been so overcome, his brain running a thousand miles an hour, that he couldn’t even wait to ask. Hermione leant back against the kitchen counters and sighed, exhausted, not wanting to sit down because she knew she wouldn’t get back up again. Draco was about to speak when she began eyeing him curiously from over the small kitchen island. 

“Is that one of Molly’s jumpers?” 

Draco’s face contorted into sheer confusion, trying to piece together who the hell Molly was - when it finally clicked. 

“Yes, well...I suppose. It was one of Harry’s...” Draco trailed off and heat rushed to his face. He’d been wearing the jumper far more than what was necessary, one of the arms had even begun to fray, but he seemed to gravitate towards it every morning regardless. 

“Oh...” Hermione said and took a sip of her tea, eyebrows raised. Draco thought his face might actually combust. 

“Anyway,” He snapped, trying to ignore the fluttering in his stomach. “I’ve got a problem.” 

“I see,” Hermione said, leaning further back against the counter to get comfortable, and Draco had the awful feeling she wasn’t on his wavelength at all with what he was about to say. 

“Would you consider us friends?” Draco spat out, the words coming so fast Hermione had to repeat them in her mind before they stuck. When she finally clocked on, her brow furrowed, a part of her wanting to laugh at how ridiculous the question was. 

“Of course. I mean, you _have_ just turned up at my house out of the blue and I haven’t hexed you out of here, I think that’s all the evidence you need. Why, don’t you?” 

“Yes, and that’s the problem.” 

“I wouldn’t quite call that a problem, Draco,” Hermione laughed. 

“It is for my Mother, apparently.” 

The pieces slotted into place, and Hermione relaxed and nodded to herself, ushering them both into the living room, not caring about getting too settled, now. 

“I suppose she’s not too fond of us, is she?” Hermione said, tucking her feet up beneath her on the sofa. 

“I don’t think she’s fond of anyone. Not anymore.” 

“With good reason, I suppose,” Hermione mumbled. 

“She’s adamant that it’s all just some big...hoax. A lie. That I can’t trust any of you.” 

“And do you?” Hermione asked. 

“Do I what?” 

“Trust us?” 

“Of course I do,” Draco said, shocked at how much the notion of him not trusting them offended him. 

“Then I don’t see what the issue is. It would be nice for her to accept us, but...you can’t force her.” 

“Under any other circumstance, it wouldn’t be an issue, I suppose. But I want her to trust other people again. Not just because I want my life to be a little easier, because if she doesn’t, I don’t know how on earth she’s going to move on with her own life. To let me live mine.” 

A silence passed over the pair, and Hermione was suddenly aware that this wasn’t quite about Narcissa getting over her old fears. Not entirely. There was something troubled in Draco’s eyes that she couldn’t quite figure out, felt it dipping just out of her line of sight. She let the silence go on, not an ounce as awkward as what she could have imagined - if anything it was soothing, a natural lull in their conversation. But, slowly, something began to click in her head, and though she knew she shouldn’t pry, she couldn’t hold back that curious streak in her. 

“You’re worried she’s going to come between you and Harry, aren’t you?” She asked, voice quiet and even, not wanting to scare Draco, to make him think she was teasing. 

Draco let out a sigh, felt something take a foot off his chest, and felt beautifully vulnerable. 

“I’m assuming being friends with someone like you makes it impossible to keep secrets,” Draco said. 

“Even if I wasn’t so sharp, you’re quite terrible at being subtle. Or rather, Harry is.” 

Draco’s lips pulled into a small smile, and he laughed. “Yes, he’s decidedly heavy-handed.” 

“Answer my question, then,” Hermione urged, turning in her seat to face the other, looking almost excited, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“Alright, yes, I’m worried that she might...might make things difficult...with Harry especially...but I _am_ _worried_ for her, as well. She’s just...set in her ways.” 

“So were you,” Hermione reminded. 

“Yes, thanks for that,” Draco scoffed. 

“The answer’s looking you right in the face, Draco, I’m a little disappointed you’ve not realised it, yet.” 

“Humour me, then, I’m not feeling as quick as I usually am. I’m exhausted.” 

“You and me both,” Hermione said. “Well, the only way she’s going to come to terms with us being a part of your life and not _sabotaging_ you, is if we can show her we mean well. She’s not going to take it on your word, she wouldn’t take it on _anyone’s_ word - so show her.” 

“I’m not quite understanding how I can unless you fancy taking up residency in the country’s most depressing mansion.” 

Hermione laughed and shook her head. “I appreciate the offer, but what I’m trying to say is, we’ll just...drop by now and again. It’ll take some time, but I’m sure after a while she’ll warm up to us. As much as she can, anyway. You can’t expect her to welcome people with open arms if all she’s ever known about us is how much hassle we’ve caused you over the years.” 

Draco’s face had turned pale, and he suddenly looked a little sick. “I dread to think how that meeting would go.” 

“It’ll probably be quite awful,” Hermione said, voice so deadpan that Draco’s head whirled around to see her expression, catching a slight twinkle in her eye. “But I think we can manage brief visits.” 

“I really don’t...I don’t want to put that on you,” Draco mumbled, his head already running through a thousand scenarios at how Narcissa might react. 

“Then I won’t give you a choice.” 

“Granger, if you turn up out of the blue-” 

“What? Like you did here not an hour ago? And don’t Granger _me_ , Draco.” 

Draco huffed. “I'm making a fuss for good reason.” 

“Perhaps, but you won’t get anywhere if you don’t bite your tongue and try. Look, Ron’s due out of St. Mungo’s any day now, we could come over once he’s well enough just to thank you for visiting, you could invite us in for a drink, it’ll be as easy as that. Just...small steps.” 

Draco gave up arguing, and Hermione settled back, comfortable and smug, into her seat. After a moment, something niggled in Hermione’s head and she spoke again. 

“Draco...why didn’t you talk to Harry about all of this?” 

Draco blinked slowly, as though he didn’t know why he hadn’t, either. Soon, though, he shrugged, finishing off his drink. Without even thinking, he began to speak. “As much as I lov-” 

And stopped. Even his breathing seemed to cease for a moment, as though any small movement would let the rest of the words out. In a panic, he stood up with his cup, storming into the kitchen to wash it up. He pretended not to see Hermione’s wide grin and bright eyes, ignored her eyes burning into his back, tried to calm down the fluttering in his stomach. 

“He’s just not very practical with this type of stuff, is he?” Draco said instead, almost sounding angry that Hermione had asked at all. He ignored her muffled giggles, but glared daggers at her when he came back into the living room. Draco had the odd feeling that the woman in front of him could be a sadist, sometimes, with the way she revelled over his panic. 

Draco felt exceptionally lucky that she let his slip-up go on by without any more probing. But when he got ready to leave, she assured him that she’d let Harry know he’d called by, and Draco tried to will his face not to flush for what felt like the hundredth time that day, 

It didn’t work. 

~-*-~

Draco had almost forgotten about his conversation with Hermione. 

The days rolled by quietly, undisturbed, and terribly boring. Not a few days after his visit, he got an owl from Hermione letting him know that Ron had been discharged, that he was still tired and aching, but otherwise fine. Though Draco felt a genuine sense of relief that Ron was finally well again, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat lost.

Those visits had been the only time he ever really felt reason to leave the house, and his routine was becoming too close to normal. Narcissa, irritatingly, seemed somewhat pleased, even if it was out of no real spite. It worried Draco how much she relied on their version of normal, only leaving for essentials, spending the rest of their time roaming around the Manor like ghosts. 

Draco tried and failed, many times, to convince himself to go visit Harry, or Hermione and Ron. But every time he began to put on his shoes, rehearsing what he’d tell Narcissa, he was overcome with an irrational fear that he was overstepping some boundary, as though what his Mother had said was true. It was all some strange joke. They were humouring him. That he was pushing himself into their normal lives and that they could do just as well without him. 

He tried to write letters, but they felt stunted and off, like he was rehearsing lines rather than talking to them about anything meaningful. He was scared to send them out. They all sounded too formal, or too uncaring, like he’d be sending them reams upon reams of a script rather than honestly reaching out. 

As though to compensate for it, Draco offered every time they needed to go out for essentials, and Narcissa seemed scarily relieved when he did. He wandered around Diagon Alley for far longer than needed, feeling a sea of eyes staring at him with a mixture of disgust and curiosity, hoping that someone would walk into him and when he turned to look – it would be Harry, with his sheepish smile and bright eyes and irritatingly endearing way of wriggling himself into Draco’s space, thinking nothing of it. 

But it never happened. 

And bit by bit Draco felt like he was losing himself again, swimming against one endless, grey sea, not knowing where the shore was, not knowing if he wanted to get back to shore at all. The future was covered in a light mist and all he could do was sit there, waiting for it to disappear into a thick sheet of fog. 

Draco was in the middle of re-writing another attempt at a letter when Narcissa called up to him. As he wandered down to the floor below, he could see the concern etched in his Mother’s face, it was only when he heard a tentative knock at the door that he realised why. She didn’t say a word, only gestured uselessly towards the front door, and Draco shrugged before making his way to it, and opening it. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised, but somehow the sight of Hermione, Ron and Harry startled him all the same. 

“Hello, Draco,” Hermione said, smiling bright, somehow making up for Harry and Ron’s awkward expressions. 

Draco could have hexed her and hugged her in equal measure. 


	20. Clearing the Air

Hermione’s voice seemed to carry throughout the entire Manor. It did not waver, did not so much as sound an ounce unsure, she spoke with such unbridled normalcy that it soothed Draco’s beating heart in an instant. His hands still shook, but the movements were slight, and he was sure that only he could see the tremors. When he spoke, it was with a tight indifference that almost made him cringe, but Hermione seemed not to care, or if she did, understood why he reverted back to it.

“I wasn’t expecting you to visit,” Draco said, voice quiet but even.

“Well, we weren’t expecting to visit so soon,” Hermione said with a small laugh. “I hope we’re not intruding?”

Draco half-expected for Narcissa to speak up, but she didn’t, only eyed the four of them curiously from a few feet down the hall. When Draco looked back to her, she appeared lost, hands clasped together tightly in front of her, just watching. Waiting, perhaps.

“Of course you aren’t, we’re not exactly busy,” Draco mumbled, closing the door as the trio shuffled into the hallway.

He idly wondered how familiar the place might still seem to them, but his thoughts were brushed away and whittled down to a fine point as he brushed past Harry. Draco couldn’t even look at him, didn’t even dare, he could already feel that strange mixture of nerves and excitement blossoming. Instead, he looked to Ron, who shrugged, and Draco felt beyond sorry for him, smiling apologetically like it would make any difference.

Draco could only stand by, a horrified spectator, as Hermione walked further into the house and began to talk directly to Narcissa. His expression must have been something because before he knew it, Ron’s near-frightened expression melted away. He chuckled into his hand to stifle the noise, nudged Draco, as amused as he was shocked.

“Told you, she’s got nerves of steel that one,” Ron said quietly, and Draco could only groan under his breath.

“I never thought we’d be back here on a social call,” Harry replied, something awkward and unsure lining his words.

Draco ran a hand across his eyes as though trying to wake himself up. “I feel like a child that’s invited his friends over for a sleepover,” He muttered bitterly, noticing how Narcissa kept looking away from Hermione, confusion etched over her face. He was glad that, at the least, there was nothing hostile hidden away there.

“You reckon we still need to let Mum know we’re stopping out?” Ron asked the other two, biting back a grin.

Draco was half-way to snapping out a response when a voice cut through their conversation.

“Draco, would you help me in the kitchen? We should get your friends a drink rather than stand in the hallway all day,” Narcissa said, a certain emphasis on the word ‘friends’ that Draco wasn’t sure was good or bad. He was too stunned to dwell on it. He nodded, and Narcissa began to lead them all into the kitchen, Hermione close by her side and chatting away as though she was with an old friend, rather than a woman she should, by all rights, despise.

“How in Merlin’s name does she do it?” Draco muttered.

“I reckon that’s working in the Ministry for you, she’s got to be nice to all sorts of people she doesn’t like,” Ron replied.

“ _Easy_ , Weasley.”

“Just being honest, mate.”

“That's one way to put it,” Harry said, his hand brushing not-so-accidentally against Draco’s as they rounded the corner into the kitchen. Draco only just managed not to knock into the doorframe from the jolt it gave him.

The boys almost felt invisible as the minutes ticked on by. Draco was beginning to wonder if his Mother realised they were there at all. Hermione seemed to have completely dominated the conversation, and Narcissa was more than happy to let her. They chatted idly, mainly about Ministry work, what Hermione’s goals for the future were, how Narcissa had been since she was back home. It was only when a natural lull in the conversation arrived that Narcissa shook herself out of her trance, turning to Ron almost cautiously.

“I’m sorry to hear about your stay in St. Mungo’s, by the way,” She said, swallowing thickly as though at a loss of what else to say. If Draco didn’t already realise, that look itself reminded him just how much his Mother was both graceful and awkward in equal measure. It was as though the Malfoy’s were doomed to forget how to interact like normal people once they inherited the name, especially so when that name was ripped to shreds.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m fine now, just a stiff back, is all,” Ron replied, charming enough, and smiled.

Narcissa returned it with a gentle one of her own. “You’ve all been through a great deal for us, from what Draco has told me,” She added. “I have to admit I’m a little surprised as to why you all went to such lengths.”

Draco felt his stomach drop. There it was, then. All idle chatter aside, the big question that had been hanging over Narcissa’s head was made known. Hermione seemed to falter for a moment, her mouth opening slightly, the gears turning in her head to try and word things the right way. Ron could only turn to her and watch, his pale face urging her to think fast. Just when the silence became too much, and Draco was about to interject, he caught Harry turn towards his Mother.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Harry asked, pushing down the defiant tone he was tempted to use. “I mean, we'd be pretty terrible friends if we didn’t try to help where we could.”

Narcissa’s eyes hardened for a moment and she turned to Harry, who suddenly realised how much she’d been trying not to notice his presence at all. Now her gaze was on him, it felt incredibly cold, and he began to regret even opening his mouth. By the looks the others gave him, they regretted him doing it, too.

“I wasn’t aware you were all on such good terms beforehand." She said, voice slow and nearing on calculated.

“Admittedly, we weren’t,” Harry responded, the words tumbling out of his mouth, not an ounce as deliberate as Hermione. He couldn’t help himself. “But, I suppose things change, don’t they?”

“It’s been a rather quick change, don't you think?” Narcissa asked.

Draco felt his body grow tense, looking across the table of people, not knowing what to do. He knew this was another hurdle, knew it had to be addressed one way or another, but a large part of him wanted to spare the other three from his Mother’s cold gaze, and in turn, shield her from being misunderstood. He knew it was that fierce, over-protective, endlessly worrying part of her talking, but doubted the others would understand the way he did. Still, he let the silence hang, his eyes flickering between friends and family.

“Not particularly,” Harry said, voice slow and careful. “Me and Draco spent months stepping on each other’s toes, we had plenty of time to work through old grudges. I’m not one for dwelling on the past any more than I have to.”

Something struck a chord with Narcissa then, and it was obvious to see. Her eyes widened for a moment, the hands clasped in a vice grip on the table loosening and dropping into her lap. Harry held her gaze for as long as he could, but soon she turned away, looking down at the table as though studying something. Eventually, she let out a small sigh, and nodded to herself, as though marking something off and filing it away for another day.

“So, how did you both find yourself getting better acquainted with Draco, then?” Narcissa asked, turning back to Ron and Hermione. “I wasn’t aware that they were allowing him to see others.”

The entire room seemed to relax just a fraction, and everyone felt they could breathe again even if it was by the smallest degree.

“We might have...worked around a few rules, I suppose,” Ron mumbled, as though preparing to get a telling off.

Narcissa only chuckled and nodded again. Soon enough, Hermione was filling the room with pleasant chatter, and though Draco got the impression she was leading them all into conversation like puppets on strings, he found he didn’t mind for the time being. He was quite happy to sit back and watch as his Mother began to thaw out, quite happy to feel Harry’s leg knocking into his own, catching the other smirking out of the corner of his eye.

The cracks were not being filled in or smoothed over - the entire mask was being taken off. Shard by small shard, as painful as it may be.

~-*-~

Draco was pleasantly surprised to find that Narcissa seemed disappointed when the group had to leave. He hadn’t seen her so full of life in a long time, just from a few friendly faces, and although she was still guarded and unsure, Draco felt as though the challenge wasn’t as frightening as it had been when they first arrived. He wanted desperately to pull Hermione to one side to thank her but found that Narcissa wouldn’t let the woman out of arms reach.

“Well, even I have to admit it’s been quite pleasant to see a fresh set of faces for once. No offence to my son, of course,” Narcissa said to Hermione.

“None taken,” Draco muttered through gritted teeth, elbowing Ron who was laughing silently beside him.

“Even your Mum’s sick of you,” Ron whispered, and flinched as Draco’s elbow came flying back again.

“You’re pushing your luck,” Draco seethed.

Narcissa opened the door, and Harry cursed quietly to himself. Draco looked behind and raised an eyebrow.

“Urm, sorry, I think I left my coat,” Harry gestured behind him. “in the kitchen somewhere.”

“We’ll wait outside while you grab it,” Hermione said quickly, tucking her arm through Ron’s and leading them out the door. Narcissa followed them out, taking the opportunity to grab some fresh air.

“Which door was it?” Harry asked, almost to himself.

“This place isn’t that big,” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “Come on, it’s this way.”

“You say that when your kitchen alone is about three times the size of my entire flat,” Harry laughed, bumping his arm into Draco’s playfully. Draco instinctively took a glance back to the door, but no one was looking their way. His hand brushed against Harry’s and he felt the other take hold of it for a moment, squeezing it reassuringly, before letting go as they rounded the door back into the kitchen.

Draco’s eyes scanned the empty table they’d been sitting at and frowned. Then an arm slipped around his waist and Draco couldn’t help but jump for a moment, before melting into it. He turned around to find Harry’s shy smile, peering down at him with bright eyes.

“You didn’t bring a coat, did you?” Draco asked.

“Nope,” Harry replied.

“You do realise how suspicious it’s going to look when you go back without one,” Draco mumbled, the anger half-hearted and not really there at all. He couldn’t concentrate. Not when Harry’s hands were running up and down his sides. Especially not when Harry leaned in to bump his nose against Draco’s own with a sly grin.

“I’ll just say you nicked it, you've got a habit of doing that,” Harry said.

“Shut up,” Draco responded, his arms moving up across Harry’s shoulders.

He didn’t wait for Harry to make a move, only tilted his head to the side and kissed him, a part of him relishing in the brief gasp of surprise that Harry let out. There was nothing slow or well-practised about their movements, not relaxed or exploratory. It was a kiss almost rushed, as though they wouldn’t get to so much as see each other for another age.

Draco supposed he had felt, for a moment, that might be true.

Harry pulled him ever closer, hands settling on Draco’s lower back, pushing up the material of his jumper the smallest slither until his fingers settled underneath it. There was something about the feeling of Harry's warm hands against his skin that made Draco’s chest ache, and he let one of his own hands wind through Harry’s hair, surprised at how soft it was, tugging lightly. Harry groaned, and Draco huffed out laughter between kisses as he realised they were creeping back towards the kitchen table, aimless and restless at the same time.

Soon enough, the back of Draco’s legs hit the furniture and he pulled away a fraction. Harry tried to follow him, peppering kisses wherever he could reach. The corner of his mouth, his cheek, his jawline, and Draco’s hands itched to cover his own mouth as he grinned in response. He turned to one side, desperate to speak, but Harry only decided that he’d attack the column of Draco’s pale throat instead. Something electric shot through Draco at that, and he tried to wriggle away, every kiss and nip at the sensitive skin nearly overwhelming.

“As much as I appreciate you pressing me up against a kitchen table and _mauling_ me, if we don’t get back soon everyone’s liable to think I’ve murdered you,” Draco said, nearly breathless.

“Consider me dead, then,” Harry mumbled against Draco’s neck, but pulled away soon enough, eyes both fond and disappointed. “I suppose I _should_ get going before they have a fit.”

“Probably for the best,” Draco admitted, reluctantly letting his arms come to rest on Harry’s shoulders, kissing him once more for good measure, before gently pushing him away.

Harry backed off and ran a hand through his hair, and by the time he was done, he looked even more dishevelled than before. Draco worked on smoothing out his clothes and walked back to the kitchen door, turning around to find Harry staring straight back at him, a lopsided smile across his face, and Draco sighed.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“Because we’ll be in this kitchen for a lifetime if you don’t.”

Harry laughed and followed as Draco made his way out of the room and towards the front door. Just before they were within ear-shot of the others, Harry spoke.

“You’re welcome back at my flat, you know?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I...guess so. Where did that come from?”

Harry shrugged. “Just thought I’d put it out there.”

“I’ll take that as an invitation, then?”

“If you like,” Harry smiled.

Draco tried and failed to bite back his own small grin. “Consider it a date,” He mumbled, before his face smoothed over into an even smile for the others.

Hermione peered back into the house, her eyebrows furrowed but said nothing. Ron looked as oblivious as ever. Narcissa’s eyes, however, narrowed, and she looked the two men up and down.

“Did you find your coat?” Narcissa asked, mildly.

Harry looked everywhere but directly at the woman before he mumbled a reply. “No, we looked all over...I can’t think of where I put the bloody thing.”

Narcissa let confusion wash over her face before she shrugged. “We’ll keep an eye out, I suppose,” She said slowly, before raising an eyebrow at her son,

They wished the group goodbye, and Draco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Harry turned back only once as they walked out of the estate to smile at him, and Draco shyly returned it, not noticing the way his Mother watched his face intently, something slotting into place behind the closed doors of her mind.


	21. Unspoken Things

A realisation fell over them all. 

It was a gradual thing, as though they’d been watching spring arrive from the view of a window. One minute there was nothing but the spindly branches of bare trees, a grey sky the only backdrop, foliage cut back to within an inch of its life. Then something broke through the frost. Only when a hundred more blades of grass broke through did they notice, only when something bloomed did it slot into place. But it was a gradual thing nonetheless, and a natural one at that. Change, but something to be expected. 

The gentle shift in everyone’s relationship had been jarring but expected somehow, as though for years they’d assumed it would only be a matter of time for the foundations to settle down and something new to walk through the door. Distantly, they thought it might have perhaps just been fates odd way of going about things, of mending what had been broken years before. 

The trio wasn’t quite a trio anymore, and though Draco rarely let his mind wander to that fact, it wouldn’t have been a shocking announcement, either. 

Still, some nights, he retired to bed and let his mind touch the edges of that thought, wondered why it was that he’d never been allowed to consider that he could be part of a group from choice, rather than expectation. 

He wondered why it was he’d loathed Hermione with every spiteful bone in his body, and now found he couldn’t care less about what lineage she had because they were too similar in mind not to laugh at the idea of bad blood. He wondered how he’d ever thought Ron to be lower than him in any way, not when he somehow managed to leave Draco breathless from laughter, occasional arguments quickly forgotten. 

Mostly, he wondered how the boy he’d hated more than anyone was fast becoming the man he loved more than anything. 

Still, change was a slow thing, and he had to settle for Harry’s brief appearances alongside their friends at the Manor, forgetting all sorts of belongings just to snatch a second together, suspicious looks aside. Draco settled for disappearing at odd hours of the night, like a schoolboy sneaking out to cause mischief, only to arrive at Harry’s front door. He settled for rushed kisses and light sleep, drifting off curled up against Harry until the sun shining through the living room window urged him to go home. 

A lot of things might have already changed. 

Narcissa had drifted from tolerating Draco’s friendship with the others to feeling the flicker of her own kinship with the group, and soon enough her motherly gaze was not pinned on one blond boy, but spread across a group of four. Ron’s mind and heart was finally settled as he made tracks to help George in the shop, contentment finding company with him at last. Hermione’s eyes were set, focused and steady, on her future with and for the wizarding world. All of them small steps, but tremendous progress all the same. 

But there was still something frightening to Draco and Harry about admitting what was fast becoming obvious to them, and neither knew how long they could keep sneaking around. Something about it didn’t settle right, felt disingenuous, even if they were constantly in a battle to remind the other how genuine it really was, even if it was blatantly obvious to most that something a step away from friendship had formed between them. 

The closer they got, the more Draco worried about what the future meant for them _._

~-*-~

“I’m starting to think they’re all in league with each other,” Draco muttered, and Harry gave him a small, somewhat sad, smile. 

The streets of Diagon Alley only gave a whisper of spring being near. Frost still slicked up the cobbles in the early hours, the narrow alleys feeling almost claustrophobic from the number of layers other witches and wizards insisted on wearing. Draco tucked his hands inside an oversized emerald jumper, a gift Hermione had insisted on coaxing from Molly after Harry’s old jumper was frayed to within an inch of its life. He hadn’t quite gotten round to visiting the rest of the Weasley’s, was more than scared to, but Draco figured it was a good sign nonetheless that she’d knit the clothing for him at all. 

“I still don’t know why you don’t just sit pretty on that Malfoy fortune you always used to rattle on about,” Harry said, moving a hand to Draco’s shoulder and squeezing, a small sign to say he was joking. 

“I’m bored,” Draco whined, and in reality that wasn’t even the half of it. Yes, he was terribly bored. Yes, he was sick of wandering around the Manor aimlessly most days. And, yes, he was tired of walking through Diagon Alley every week, knowing he could get what he wanted, but having no desire to do so. He wanted to feel useful to the world, even to the tiniest degree. 

“So you keep saying,” Harry laughed. “Honestly, though, what are you even looking for?” 

“Anything.” 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Harry said, his amused grin cutting through his sharp tone. “You’re not telling me a Slytherin like you doesn’t know exactly what he wants out of a career. That’s your... _thing._ ” 

“That’s not my _thing._ I’ll settle for being a bloody bartender at this point. You know half of the places I’ve been haven’t even let me apply?” Draco said, falling back into his age-old rant. 

“Why don’t you let me go in with you?” 

“What, so you can flash your little scar at them and demand they hand over their business entirely?” 

“I mean, _yeah._ ” 

The pair burst into laughter, a huddle of witches looking around at them with raised eyebrows, and Draco moved a hand to his face to stifle anymore noise. They moved on quickly, squeezing past the flow of people weaving between shops, and Draco could feel his enthusiasm from the morning dwindling away. Harry must have noticed, because he grabbed at Draco’s hand for a movement, entwined their fingers, squeezed, and let go. Draco idly bumped against the other, their silent ways of speaking what they weren’t quite ready to say or show to prying eyes. 

“Fancy taking a detour to the shop? These crowds are starting to do my head in,” Harry asked. 

“I suppose so, not having any luck, either way.” 

“You’ll find something,” Harry assured, feeling his heart ache at the way Draco’s eyes had lost their spark. 

If the shop wasn’t hard to miss from a mile away, the noise that surrounded the place alerted the pair that they were close. If anything, since Ron had left the Ministry to join George, Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes had become even more of a spectacle of a shop. Even in the quietest months, the place seemed to always be overflowing and cast the streets surrounding in such a dull light, it was as though it sucked every imaginable light source into itself. 

The pair squeezed their way through the doors, wincing slightly at the sound of what felt like a hundred children squealing and laughing excitedly, and almost instantly Ron was calling over to them. 

“Alright, Harry? Draco?” Ron shouted over the noise. 

Draco smiled and raised a hand. 

“Not too bad,” Harry shouted back. “Busy today?” 

Ron’s face fell into a look of exhaustion, blowing a stray piece of red hair from his face and straightening his back with a wince. “You wouldn’t believe. Give me a minute, I’ll go grab George.” 

Harry nodded and looked back to Draco. 

“I’ll leave you to it, if you want?” Draco asked, eager to escape into the depths of the shop.

Despite the events of the last year, he still had a somewhat irrational fear of meeting the rest of the Weasley family, even if George had been nothing shy of civil. He often got the feeling he’d much rather him not be there, regardless. Harry raised an eyebrow and chuckled. 

“He won’t bite, you know?” 

Draco rolled his eyes. “I know that much; I just don’t want to get in your way.” 

“You’re not _in_ _the_ way,” Harry assured, pinching Draco’s side and laughing as he flinched, wriggling away. 

“Come find me when you’re done,” Draco said, giving Harry a look that told the other not to argue. Harry spread out his hands in defeat, shrugging, and gave Draco’s shoulder a squeeze before he went off to find the others.

Draco felt like he’d browsed the shop a thousand times over in the few months since Ron had worked there, but every time it felt like the shop had added something new. Often, he hardly realised how long Harry had been talking. It felt as though five minutes would pass and Harry would rush over, apologizing for taking so long, and when they next walked out into the street the sun was beginning to dip.

As Draco wandered through tightly knit groups of children and adults alike, he was pulled out of his daydream by what sounded like a bomb going off just a few feet away. Draco looked over to find a group of teens looking dumbstruck, covered in multicoloured dust that they blinked out of their eyes, coughing and spluttering, feathers of all colours drifting slowly to the floor. He tried to bite back the laughter, but their expressions alone caused a bubble of giggles to rise within his throat, and before he knew it - he was stifling laugher behind his hand, eyes watering. 

He hardly noticed the familiar voice chuckling right beside him. 

“You wouldn’t believe how many times that’s happened this week,” The voice said, and Draco sobered up, hastily blinking back tears of joy. George smiled as Draco looked around, his jaw twitching as though he was fighting back the urge to laugh himself. 

“I’m surprised the whole shop hasn’t come down,” Draco said, his voice hiccupping as he desperately tried to compose himself. 

“There’s time yet. We brought those in so we could trial ‘em for Easter, but they’re a bit...” 

“Aggressive?” 

“That’s one way to put it, yeah. Gives Ron and me a good laugh, though, even if it is a mess. Fancy taking one home? Reckon it’d brighten up that house of yours.” 

Draco felt a slither of unease at that, trying to figure out if there was an underlying, nasty edge to the joke. He shrugged it off. “I think I'll pass, I value my life, surprisingly.” 

George grinned and shrugged. “Suit yourself.” 

Draco expected the other to walk away, figured he was just looking in to check if someone had got hurt, but he hovered as though wanting to ask something, and Draco couldn’t help but feel nervous. He raised an eyebrow as George gestured to him. 

“I see you’ve been put on Mum’s PR list.” 

Draco looked down at himself and blushed slightly. “I’m as surprised as you, I think Hermione had a lot to do with it, though,” He mumbled. 

“She nudged her in the right direction, I suppose. I think Mum was just happy that someone finally appreciated getting them, I think Harry’s the only other one that still asks for them.” 

George’s voice trailed away slightly as a group of teens hurried their way through them, grinning up at them cheekily, before flocking around another display. Draco found he didn’t know what to say, felt absolutely lost in this bizarre conversation, his head running a thousand miles an hour. He swallowed and tried to respond. 

“I appreciated it a lot,” Draco started. “I told Hermione to let her know I said thank you, I don’t know if she got a chance.” 

George broke into a smile. “Yeah, she did. Y’know, it’d be nice if you could meet her, though. Say it in person.” 

Draco again braced for some hint of something nasty in the words, something accusing or offended, insinuating that he should have already visited and thanked her. But there was nothing there. Just a gentle, almost tired glint to George’s eyes, something resigned and just shy of content. 

“I suppose it would be nice. I just don’t want to feel like I’m...” Draco’s voice fell away, but George cut in. 

“Like you’re intruding? Trust me, mate, there’s no such thing as intruding in that house. I think Mum loses track of all the people that go in and out. Surprised she hasn’t been robbed a hundred times by a stranger wandering in.” 

Draco laughed, and just beyond George’s shoulder he saw Ron and Harry battling their way through crowds towards them. George turned briefly, before looking back to Draco. 

“Seriously, though, I’ll get Harry to send you over to the Burrow one of these days,” George said with a wink, and before Draco could respond he was being whisked out of the door and back onto the street. 

Harry chatted idly as they wandered up and down the Alley. No shop caught Draco’s eye, and the hiring signs that were so often perched in shop windows seemed to have disappeared entirely. Even if they were there, Draco no longer felt in the mood to hunt for a job. It had been a long day. 

“-I think George has been a lot happier since Ron got on board, though. Haven’t seen him this settled in ages.” 

Draco hummed a response, but his mind was elsewhere. Harry paused for a moment. 

“You okay?” 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Draco said, but Harry didn’t seem to buy it. 

“Is it about finding work?” 

Draco quirked an eyebrow. “I said I’m alright.” 

“Is it about us?” 

“Of course not,” Draco said, exasperated. 

Harry stopped in his tracks and Draco sighed, shaking his head. Harry pulled them to one side away from the steady flow of people trying to squeeze through them. He didn’t say another word, only stared down at Draco with a pleading expression, entirely stubborn. Draco glared back for a moment but admitted defeat quickly. He let out a breath. 

“Did you tell George to talk to me?” Draco asked. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He started chatting with me out of the blue earlier.” 

“I wondered why he’d snuck off, is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“Harry,” Draco scolded, but the other man only smirked. “I’m serious.” 

“I know. I promise you I didn’t. Why, what did he say?” Harry asked, his expression slowly becoming concerned. 

“Not too much I suppose,” Draco sighed. “It’s just...well he said he was going to try and get you to take me to the Burrow to meet Molly.” 

Harry’s eyebrows furrowed and he shrugged. “What’s so bad about that? I know it’s still a little...odd, getting to know people properly considering...well, just considering _._ But-” 

“It’s not really that _I’m_ worried about anymore, I don’t think,” Draco said. 

Harry didn’t reply, only looked at the other man expectantly. Draco tried to gather his thoughts and place them together seamlessly, but it was all just a confusing jumble of feelings, nothing tangible at all. 

“I can’t really explain it.” 

“Just try,” Harry urged, grabbing Draco’s hand. This time he didn’t let go. 

Draco looked around at the sea of people around them, none of them paying the two any mind, no one seeming to care at all. 

“Can we head to your place?” Draco asked. 

Another swell from the crowd smothered them from view. When the people parted, the two men had disappeared from sight. 

~-*-~

Draco settled into the sofa and watched, intently, as Harry got himself a drink before settling down. Without another thought, Harry’s arm was slipping over Draco’s shoulders, pulling him into his side, his thumb rubbing soothing patterns into his jumper-clad shoulder. They didn’t say anything for a long while. Draco composed his thoughts, tried to make sense of them, and Harry was more than happy to wait until he did. 

The longer time went on, the more Draco considered dropping the subject altogether – or at least trying to. He couldn’t decide what was rational or not, couldn’t decide if he felt genuine fear or some strange imitation of it. It felt like dipping into a black hole, feeling himself slip away beneath it all, all over something trivial at best. It was only when he felt Harry’s lips press against his temple did he pull himself out of it for a relieving second. 

“You okay?” Harry asked, quietly, and that was all it took for the words to final unhook themselves from Draco’s throat. 

“What do you think your future looks like?” Draco asked, huffing out a laugh soon after, realising how ridiculous it sounded. How very unlike a Malfoy he sounded. Vulnerable and unsure, but at the least – very human. 

“I don’t think anyone knows that answer,” Harry said, voice slow, trying to give himself time to try and guess where Draco’s head was going. 

“What do you _want_ _it_ to look like, then?” 

It was Harry’s turn to grow quiet. He thought over it, picked the question apart, tried to cast his mind’s eye into the future but brought up nothing. It was something Harry never considered. The next day was his closest worry, at best, the next month. Not years. Not years on years. But he thought long and hard and wondered why that question seemed to make Draco feel cold, and then he knew. 

“I’d like it to look peaceful, for once,” Harry began, putting his drink to one side so he could turn towards Draco, move in a little closer. “It’d be quite nice if you were still there in it.” 

Draco scoffed out a laugh, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder for a brief second. “I don’t think you can combine those two things.” 

“You _are_ _a_ handful,” Harry smirked. “How has one conversation with George managed to bring all this up?” 

“I’ve got a particular talent for overthinking rather mundane situations, unfortunately.” 

“Don’t I know it,” Harry said, pressing a kiss against Draco’s hair before shaking him slightly. “What’s worried you? You think I’m gunna run off, or something?” 

“You better not,” Draco warned. “I just keep trying to picture how...how all of this is going to work out. I don’t even know what career I want, don’t even know if I could _have_ a career if I picked one.” 

“There’s no rush, Draco, you-” 

“And what about...about us? Is this serious? A part of me feels like people might try to hex some sense into you, if it were.” 

“What do you mean, ‘if it were’? Do you not think we’re serious?” 

Draco stopped then and turned to Harry, looked at him with great care, trying to spot even the slightest hint of a lie. In reality, Harry seemed more hurt than anything. 

“I don’t know,” Draco said, quietly. “We never really talked about it.” 

Harry’s eyes softened a little at that, and Draco felt fingers running across the back of his neck. “I guess not...but I’ll be disappointed if we’re not anything shy of very bloody serious. Wait, was George hitting on you?” 

“Do not even go there,” Draco sighed, and Harry kissed him, short and sweet, in apology, even if he was laughing a little. Draco debated letting the whole thing fizzle out then and there, but didn’t dare bottle anything else up. “What are the others going to think, though?” 

Harry shrugged, and Draco seriously envied how laid back he seemed about it all. “To be fair, Hermione cottoned on ages ago. If Ron hasn’t got a clue because of her, I’ll be surprised. She can’t keep it to herself forever, she's been hassling me ever since that hospital visit.” 

Draco started to open his mouth, but Harry carried on. 

“The rest of them will get used to it.” 

“Yes, but-” 

“They will get used to it,” Harry repeated, firmly, and Draco tried not to pout. 

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them. Harry watched, fond and searching, as Draco sifted through his mind and put certain worries to rest. His body relaxed, fit so perfectly against Harry’s side, looking more at home than he’d ever been in his life. Just when Harry thought the moment had passed, Draco couldn’t help but speak again. 

“So, let me just get this straight...” 

“ _Merlin_ ,” Harry sighed, but Draco’s face was crinkled with amusement. “I swear, I’m telling George not to speak to you again.” 

“I’m _joking.”_

“I can hardly tell sometimes, that’s what scares me.” 

“Yes, but imagine you get offered to play as Seeker fo-” Draco’s snide comment was cut off by Harry’s fingers digging into his ribs, he choked out a laugh before scooting away to the other end of the sofa, still trying to finish his sentence, half-heartedly using his legs to keep Harry away. “Will I end up just another groupie? You’ll be galivanting off across the world, you’re sure to forget me then, as _stunning_ as I am.” 

Draco’s voice came out broken and disjointed as Harry crawled over him, legs pinned either side of the other’s lithe form, hair splayed as he leant forward and down, trying to sound serious between fits of laughter.

“Sorry, Draco, I can’t understand what you’re trying to say over all the dramatics,” Harry chuckled, hands no longer pinching but slipping under Draco’s jumper to rest, comfortable and warm, against his sides.

Draco’s laughter fizzled away a little, a smirk still tugging at his lips which melted into something more affectionate as Harry leaned down to press gentle kisses across his jawline. If Draco’s fears hadn’t been squashed by then, Harry’s next few words smothered them altogether. 

“I’ll be dragging you with me whether I get a glamourous new job or not. I can be quite stubborn.” 

“Yes, I’m aware,” Draco said, voice quiet, the silence passing over them both tense and strangely comfortable. 

Harry tilted his head to look Draco over, as though assuring himself he’d really sent the message, green eyes burning into silver ones. He removed one hand from where it lay against Draco’s skin, reaching up to cup Draco’s cheek and jaw, thumb running across the skin there as though admiring him. In a sense, he was. Draco hardly noticed as he moved his own hands to link behind Harry’s head, subtly trying to urge the other closer. 

“I do love you, you know?” Harry said, suddenly. 

Draco didn’t overthink a single word that came next. 

“I know. I love you, too.” 


	22. Invitations and Rushed Letters

“You’re welcome to join us."

Hermione’s words were muffled slightly by the slice of cake she was tending to, almost lovingly. She’d developed quite the sweet tooth as her stress levels had crept upwards, promotions within the Ministry now not so much a pipe dream, but a close reality. Narcissa, sharp as she was, had taken note. Draco could plot when Hermione was due to come round, not from being told directly, but by the shopping list Narcissa would slip to him as he tried to sneak out of the door.

Draco watched, a hint of a comfortable smile shining in his eyes and tugging at the corner of his lips, as the pair talked. Never could he have imagined those two women sat together in pleasant conversation. Their friendship had grown almost easier than Draco’s own with the group, and he had to wonder how lonely his Mother must have been until that point, how hard it must have been for her all those years. He could hardly bring up a memory where she had been with the comfort of friends. His childhood seemed to be filled with business meetings, tense family gatherings or far worse.

It was a welcome change.

“As much as I appreciate the offer, I’d feel a little out of sorts,” Narcissa responded, smiling apologetically.

Hermione, between almost frenzied recollections of the previous workday, had been discussing how she was looking forward to returning to the Burrow with Ron in a fortnight’s time, even if it would no doubt be just as chaotic as work. There must have been a flicker of something envious across Narcissa’s own features because Hermione had offered the invitation almost hastily.

“You’d be surprised,” Hermione said, placing her empty plate on the dark wood coffee table in front of her. “Regardless, Draco will be there, won’t you?”

“I believe so,” Draco replied, trying not to let his nerves show, as small as they were now. “I wouldn’t have known anything about it if we hadn’t visited the shop earlier this week. George brought it up and I think Harry nearly tied his own tongue trying to explain why he forgot to ask.”

Hermione rolled her eyes before laughing, and Draco tried not to wriggle away from the curious look Narcissa gave him, tilted head and all. She was doing it a lot, lately, and Draco had to wonder just how much she knew. Probably more than he dared admit. He had no idea how he was going to explain his situation with Harry to her, no idea when or how to bring it up. There was no doubt in his mind that she’d come to accept it and even if she didn’t, words rang out and reminded him: _they will get used to it._

“Another time, perhaps,” Narcissa said after Hermione’s gaze drifted back to her. She wasn’t quite brave enough for that venture. Not yet, anyway.

Hermione accepted it and was about to speak again when there was a faint trill of a bell, followed by a knock at the door, muffled from the room they were settled in.

“Speak of the devil,” Draco muttered, steadying himself on his knees as he stood up from his armchair, hoping he didn’t seem too eager. “Late, as usual.”

“Would you expect anything else from him?” Hermione asked, and Draco shot her a smirk.

He left the living room and felt a slither of warmth run through him as conversation swelled from behind, subdued by the door closing. It was a soothing noise. Natural and friendly and welcome in such a cold place. He was glad they’d decided to relocate their catchups into one of the living rooms, though. At least there, they could get comfortable and the fire battled away the chill somewhat. Even if it did mean Harry could no longer fidget and press his leg against Draco’s own when Narcissa and Hermione were too busy discussing work politics to notice.

Draco forced his face into a calm, bordering on disinterested, look as he opened the door. The acting faltered slightly as the corner of his lips twitched. Harry looked as dishevelled as ever, his bright eyes burning right through Draco from behind lop-sided glasses, one hand running through his hair to try and control it as he walked through the doorway.

“Sorry I’m late,” Harry muttered, taking a glance down the hallway and not even taking a second more to think before crowding Draco against the closing door. His hands came to rest against Draco’s neck, fingertips running across his jawline, pressing a quick kiss against the tip of Draco’s thin nose, before muffling the laughter that tried to escape the man’s lips. It was short, but endlessly sweet, and Draco found he tried to follow Harry’s retreating presence every time.

“Were you hoping that would distract me from the fact that you’re late again?” Draco said with mock-annoyance, distracting himself from Harry’s pining stare by straightening up the other man’s jacket.

“Did it work?"

“Terrible effort,” Draco smirked, leaning out of the way as Harry tried to lean in again. “Do you want to keep them waiting even longer?”

“You’re a tease,” Harry complained, settling for grabbing Draco’s hand as they walked towards the living room.

“You’ve not seen the half of it,” Draco replied, grinning as Harry’s eyes snapped to him. “Get your head out of the gutter, Potter.”

“I don't know where else you expected my mind to go, honestly,” Harry said, almost pouting.

They let go of each other’s hands as they reached the door and Harry went in first, smiling brightly to the two women settled on opposite ends of the chesterfield. Conversation seemed to teeter away in the room, and for a moment Harry became worried. As Draco closed the door behind them again he cocked an eyebrow as though confused. Narcissa smiled warmly.

“You’re looking rather flustered, Harry. Are you running a fever?” She asked, innocently.

Harry realised then that Hermione’s cheeky, lopsided smirk was not uncalled for, especially when she cast a knowing look to Narcissa. Draco didn’t have to guess what the pair had been talking about while he was away. Strangely, it didn’t panic him as much as it seemed to do the other man, he simply moved a hand to rub his face, hiding the almost pleased smile behind it.

Harry mumbled an excuse and stumbled into his seat, trying his best not to let his mind wander.

~-*-~

The flat had become something of a shrine.

Harry couldn’t put his finger on it precisely, but all he knew is that with Draco’s departure, the house had become something like a placeholder. It was their safe space, that much was clear. Draco’s clothes had begun to clutter the wardrobe, jackets draped over chairs and forgotten for long weeks, and unknown to the pair one of Draco’s socks had somehow snuck its way under the bed, and he was still furious about not finding it – he'd had to traipse back to the Manor without it.

There was an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, a china cup in the cupboard that stuck out painfully against Harry’s plain and chipped ones, and what felt like a hundred different books that Draco had simply decided to leave behind. Sometimes they were read, but mostly Draco just liked the way they looked when he visited. They belonged there, somehow.

Some things went missing, too. Not all of them agreed on, but Harry couldn’t find it in his heart to complain about it, not when Draco would always mumble as though embarrassed, trying to explain just why he’d neglected to put it back - he was like a sentimental niffler. Draco’s own room was changed – a placeholder – with blankets that weren’t his and old jumpers that Harry never wore.

There was only one thing that Harry had ever actively given him to take away. A photograph of them both. At first it had irritated Draco with the lack of life in it. It didn’t move an inch, and Draco had asked countless times why Harry wouldn’t let him develop them ‘properly’ - but Harry had simply shrugged and said it was perfectly fine as it was. And after time, Draco appreciated it for just that. The stillness of it was a comfort. It was solid, never moving, never changing. Peaceful.

Harry loved the place for what it was - a lonely thing that had become a sanctuary from anything outside those four walls. But time was moving on without him, without either of them, and he was beginning to feel restless with it. There was no real reason to move, not when Draco was still figuring himself out, not when he was trying to find his place in the world. And even if Harry was certain – not knowing entirely why – that he would have a place there, too, Harry couldn’t help but wonder what his own next step would be.

Harry woke that morning, and for the first time in months – he stayed there for what felt like an age.

The bed beside him felt terribly cold, and for a moment he felt incredibly lost. As much as he didn’t miss working at the Ministry itself, the fire within him was burning brighter than ever and he missed being able to dispel it. He didn’t have a single outlet for it anymore. He’d spent countless days trying to collar Draco wherever and whenever possible as though every second with him out of sight was wasted. He seemed to be becoming part of the fixtures and fittings at the Weasley’s shop, and though neither Ron or George complained – he knew he couldn’t keep hovering and distracting them all day. But none of it scratched that itch. That need to make a change.

Feeling that niggling, almost forgotten, sense of aimlessness, Harry shot out of bed and tried to shake off the worry. It crept around the flat with him all morning, hiding in the corners of sun-streaked rooms, tickling the back of his neck as he tried to make breakfast. By mid-morning, his mind was working itself into knots. By lunch, the flickering shadow of an idea was making itself well known. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly pace the flat another time, the idea hit at full force.

As he sat down with some parchment and a quill, Harry wondered why he’d been so confused at all.

~-*-~

“I’m telling you, just wear the bloody jumper,” Harry said, trying not to laugh, but finding it incredibly amusing how Draco was storming around his room like a teenager having a strop. His hair was stuck up in such a mess that it rivalled Harry’s own, his face a peculiar expression of confused and utterly manic.

“Yes, but if I wear the jumper she might think I’m just doing it to sweeten her up and not because I actually like it,” Draco explained, as though Harry was being exceptionally dense. Harry’s face slackened into bewilderment before he replied.

“I really don’t think anyone but you is analysing the dress code that much. She’ll probably just be glad to see someone wearing her stuff for once.”

“Details like this are important, Harry.”

“Your details are going to make us late,” Harry reminded, which only led Draco into another fit of panic. He all but disappeared into his wardrobe, muttering under his breath, pulling all sorts of garments out and disregarding every one.

Harry gave up arguing, blowing a stray piece of hair from his face and slumping onto the four-poster, watching Draco’s back as he mulled over what to wear. Harry had been surprised at how calm Draco had been about the idea of visiting the Burrow. What he hadn’t expected was a meltdown right before they needed to head out.

He really should have known from Narcissa’s bordering-on-amused smile as she answered the door that something was going on. Harry’s gaze moved around the room before settling on the nightstand, smiling fondly at the photograph resting there. Another aggravated sigh pulled him out of his thoughts, and he walked over to where Draco was standing – looking utterly lost at the mess that was now his wardrobe.

Harry’s arms snuck around Draco from behind, pressing a kiss against the back of his head, moving the kisses down to Draco’s neck, then to his shoulder, slowly and carefully. The blond tensed for a moment, before relaxing into the touch.

“You look fine,” Harry mumbled, pulling Draco closer for good measure. “No one’s going to be examining you that much.”

“I know,” Draco admitted, turning around in Harry’s hold and promptly tucking his face against Harry’s neck. He could feel the other's jaw twitch slightly as he smiled.

“Nervous?” Harry asked.

“That’s a stupid question and you know it.”

Harry chuckled and moved a hand up to cup the back of Draco’s head, pressing a kiss against his temple before Draco pulled back to look at him. His hand slipped back down to rest against the blond's hips, Draco's hands linked behind Harry’s head, something that came as natural as breathing, now.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other, not needing to say a word, simply taking a moment to breathe. Draco could already feel his nerves dispersing, knew that he’d been winding himself into knots over something so trivial sheerly because his anxiety couldn’t go anywhere else.

They all but jumped out of their skin as Narcissa’s voice floated into the room.

“I hate to intrude, but you’ll need to be setting off shortly. It wouldn’t be nice to turn up late, would it?” Narcissa said, hovering in the doorway, looking as relaxed as ever.

For a horrible second neither of them spoke, didn’t even dare move, and Harry was silently waiting for a hex to come flying his way. But it never happened. Draco could only feel a slight, almost childish, embarrassment – like he’d been caught somehow. But Narcissa’s gaze showed nothing cruel, nothing disappointed – if anything she looked quite bored, perhaps even annoyed that she was being ignored.

“We’ll be going in a minute, Mother. I was just...caught up deciding what to wear.”

“I see,” Narcissa said, clearly not convinced. “I'd consider combing your hair before you leave.” She finished with a smile, disappearing back down the hallway.

Harry only let out his breath when he was sure Narcissa had gone, pretending to go limp in Draco’s arms and groaning.

“That was anti-climactic,” Draco muttered, patting Harry’s back consolingly.

“I’m surprised she didn’t curse me,” Harry said, and Draco noted how fast the other’s heart seemed to be beating.

“There’s time yet,” Draco snickered.

“Don’t even joke about that.”

“I’m _kidding_ ,” Draco said, pulling back to kiss Harry, who looked equal parts delighted and terrified. Draco moved away, smoothing down his hair, before muttering under his breath. “She’ll probably wait until you’ve fallen asleep...”

He trotted out of the room as Harry shouted after him, grinning all the way.

~-*-~

In any other time of his life, Draco would have hated the Burrow. He could think of a thousand ways he might have described it, scathingly, to others. Cramped, common, utter chaos, not even fit for animals. But all Draco could see then, as he and Harry wandered up the dirt path, was something welcoming. Wildlife chattered all around them, chickens clucking and cooing around their feet, and as they grew closer a group of red-haired figures shouted over to them, waving excitedly.

Their bright expressions and elation didn’t waver for a second, even as Draco came into sight, and that alone both broke him and fixed him in equal parts. George, Ron and Arthur were huddled together just outside the front door, their chattering dying down as they approached. George gave the pair a soft smile, and Arthur hobbled over to meet the two men.

“Took you long enough,” Ron called out, and Harry stopped himself from recounting Draco’s minor fiasco moments prior as an excuse, which Draco was thankful for.

“Harry!” Arthur exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug. His gaze moved over to Draco, and though it was unsure, it was by no means hostile. “Good to see you well, Draco,” He said, smiling.

“Nice to see you,” Draco mumbled, feeling a little unsure again, smiling to try and balance out his quiet voice.

Arthur seemed to debate whether a handshake or a hug was called for because he stumbled over to the blond with one hand held out before him. Draco didn’t get time to grasp it, because Arthur let out a decisive huff and a shrug, before pulling the blond into a hug as well, patting him roughly on the back. Draco’s face must have been a picture because George burst into giggles, nudging Ron who broke into laughter as well.

Their laughter was quite literally broken up as Molly all but charged onto the doorstep.

“Harry, my dear!” She cooed, waddling over with a smile that put the sun to shame. Harry hadn’t even made a couple more steps to the door before he was being smothered by her, too. Draco was let go by Arthur only to be scooped up by Molly’s warm embrace.

“So good to see you,” Molly mumbled against Draco, who couldn’t help but laugh a little at the odd reception. Which was the thing - it didn’t feel odd at all. He knew it should, but somehow it seemed perfectly normal to be greeted this way, like he’d never known a past like his at all.

“Likewise,” Draco said. “I’ve been waiting to thank you for the gift.”

Molly pulled back, holding Draco by the arms and looking him up and down - studying the emerald green jumper Draco had been in such a fluster about.

“Oh, you’re more than welcome - it looks lovely on you. I knew green would suit you, considering,” She chuckled. “Anyway, you two, get inside – I've just finished dinner.”

She turned and grabbed her husband by the arm, coaxing him indoors to help her set the table, and Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning like a fool at them both.

“Well that was anti-climactic,” Harry teased, repeating Draco’s own words. “I told you not to worry.”

“I think I'm in shock,” Draco laughed.

A tiny creature in his mind wondered, as it always did, whether something would shift. That maybe he’d missed some subtle aggression that he’d been too stupid to notice. That his luck was never this good or sweet to him.

They entered the lopsided and impossibly crooked house to a wave of noise. Bickering, laughter, booming conversation. The smell of food and wood fires lingered in the air. It was warm and impossibly cluttered but so very safe and welcoming, as though the very foundations had been built on that feeling. When eyes turned to greet them both, there was hardly a flicker of old pain hidden away in them.

Time, it seemed, had been a beautiful and powerful medicine.


	23. An Owl at the Burrow

Draco couldn’t help but feel a fraction claustrophobic.

Comparing the Manor to the Burrow was an impossible task and going from one to the other in quick succession was somehow daunting. The kitchen, though incredibly long, was so mismatched and flooded with all manner of clutter that it was hard to truly figure out its real size.

Not a single chair matched. Not a single bit of cutlery appeared to be part of a full set. The entire house was not dark and cold like the Manor but washed in amber afternoon sun from ceiling to floor. Most of the walls were hidden away, either by a picture or some other sentimental ornament, and if it wasn’t - shelving had been stacked there out of necessity.

Hermione was seated and beamed up at Draco instantly, as though almost shocked he’d decided to come after all. Draco couldn’t blame her – he was still surprised at his own bravery. Nerves still steeled at every voice and glance his way, but there was no instant reaction to run and hide away. He was quite happy to ride out whatever may come.

“I’m so glad you came,” Hermione said, and the look on her face showed clearly that she meant it. “Come on, sit down with me.”

Draco looked around instinctively to see where Harry was, but he’d been pulled aside by Ron and George and was chatting away with the pair, laughter bubbling up every few moments, and Draco decided to let him be. Hermione swivelled in her seat to nudge a bright red dining chair out a little so the blond could squeeze in.

Draco looked around the room, almost in awe, before his gaze settled in front of him, watching as Molly fussed over dinner and ordered Arthur around. The man looked both besotted with the woman and exasperated at her constant nagging and Draco couldn’t help but laugh, even if something in his heart felt heavy. He’d never once seen his own parents be so at ease with one another.

“They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” Hermione whispered, smirking to herself. “They’ve been at each other all morning.”

“Kind of reminds me of you and Ron,” Draco sniggered, and Hermione punched his arm playfully. Draco pretended it didn’t hurt as much as it did.

“How are you feeling, anyway?” Hermione asked, voice still low in case others were listening, though it must be impossible over the racket that seemed to run across the house. It sounded as though there was arguing on the floor above, but Hermione seemed not to notice.

“Confused,” Draco admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I thought it would have been...more hostile.”

Hermione gave him a comforting smile, almost motherly for a moment, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “I won’t lie and say there hasn’t been a few arguments over you the past few months, Arthur especially had a hard time getting his head around it all...” Hermione admitted, casting a look at said man who was getting an earful from Molly about how he’d not put out any knives.

“What changed?” Draco asked.

“Well, I think they realised there might be a different side to the story after you visited Ron so much when he was recovering. Then we started visiting you and coming back in one piece...”

Draco couldn’t help but snigger at that, and Hermione’s laughter soon followed.

“I guess after a while they just got...tired of being angry about everything,” Hermione finished, shrugging as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "I think you liking her knitting definitely helped, though," She smirked.

Their conversation was cut short as Molly started dishing up and Ron wandered over as though summoned by the smell of food itself. Harry slotted in beside Draco and gave him a warm grin, his hand sneaking under the table to squeeze his knee comfortingly.

“Where’s Ginny and Perce?” George asked as he settled down, dodging a plate of bread rolls that came flying off of the kitchen counter.

Molly let out a huff, silver-red hair fluttering out of her eyes as she moved her hands to her hips. She looked up at the ceiling.

“I bet they’re still up there arguing. Honestly, like children sometimes...” She tittered away, matching out of the long kitchen and around the corner, after a beat, her voice went crashing up the stairs. “Dinners ready you two! Stop bickering before it all goes cold.”

The entire room watched as Molly stormed back around the corner, pulling her cardigan around her huffily before double checking all the food had been laid out. Still, she seemed unable to stop fussing, asking what could have been a hundred times if anyone needed anything else. Draco wondered if she was always like this, but a smirk from George and a wink confirmed it.

Soon enough, footsteps trotted down the stairs, arguing disguised through whispers following the noise, and then Percy’s somewhat stern face was greeting them all. He was rather pink in the face, only giving so much as a glance over Draco before seating himself. Ginny was close behind, smirking, and whatever they’d been bickering over – she had clearly won. The woman had changed a lot from what Draco could briefly recall, her hair cut short, but there was a certain fierceness to her gait that he hadn’t forgotten at all.

“Sorry, Mum, Percy was getting his knickers in a twist. I did try and escape so I could be on time for dinner-” She laughed cheekily, and Percy rolled his eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” He mumbled, occupying himself by grasping for the nearest plate of food.

“Pack it in, whatever it was, I swear you’ve been at it all day...” Molly complained, finally sitting down, though there was a glint of something amused in her eye.

“I don’t know how you can talk,” Ginny mumbled between bites of food. “You and Dad are worse than any of us.”

“Don’t be silly, and don’t talk with your mouth full,” Molly scolded.

Draco hadn’t realised he was smiling to himself so much until he caught Ginny’s eye. She looked at him, almost cautiously for a moment, before firing a grin his way. Harry noticed and looked between the pair, before promptly getting wrapped up in one of Arthur’s conversations that felt more like an interrogation than anything.

Dinner seemed to fly by, and between the occasional teasing and discussions of work, Draco was happy enough to just listen. He felt like he hadn’t eaten so much in an age, hadn’t laughed so much in an age, either, his hand was getting tired from flying up to cover his own grin. But it was only a matter of time before there was a slight hiccup. They’d all finished eating, many sat back and feeling as though they could fall asleep in their chairs when Arthur suddenly pinned Draco with his eyes.

“So, _Draco_ ,” He began, as though calling him anything but Malfoy was still quite foreign. “I trust things have calmed down a lot at home?”

“Thankfully,” Draco said politely. “It’s been nice to have some peace and quiet.”

“You’ll be having less of that with this lot,” Ron jumped in, fiddling with a bowl of stew that he was debating whether or not he could still stomach. Hermione eyed him incredulously.

“How’s your Mother been coping with it all? I know Hermione mentioned she seems well,” Arthur continued.

“As well as she can, I suppose,” Draco said slowly. “She’s been glad of some different company, I think.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve had any news of your Father?” Arthur asked, and was shocked when Molly nearly gasped beside him, not realising what he'd done.

“ _Arthur_ ,” She half-whispered, batting his arm and piercing him with a glare.

“I wasn’t...I was just asking, Molly, I forgot-”

“You don’t just ask things like that-”

“Don’t mind him,” George said, cutting through his parent's tiff. “Dad loves putting his foot in it, don’t you, Dad?”

“It’s alright,” Draco said before anyone else could chime in. He pretended not to feel the concerned stare he knew Harry was giving him. “I doubt we'll ever have any real ‘news’ about him, but we’re not entirely...concerned about getting any.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, Molly still berating her husband under her breath, and then Ginny’s voice cut through the thick of it.

“Well, he _was_ a bit of an arse, I don't think I'd be bothered, either,” She mumbled, and Molly’s searchlights landed directly on her daughter. Even Ginny seemed scared of the woman’s wrath for a panicked second.

“Yes, I think that’s putting it mildly,” Draco smiled, and a round of awkward laughter filled the table.

Draco was almost surprised as Harry’s hand moved to cover his own under the table, squeezing briefly, before keeping his hold. No one batted an eye. Soon enough, it was as though all was forgotten, and chatter erupted again. Molly still felt the need to whisper an apology to Draco as she hovered around him to see if he wanted a drink, and he assured her there was nothing to worry about. If anything, Draco felt somewhat guilty that she seemed so bothered about it. He wasn’t entirely sure that if he was in her shoes, he’d be so willing to give out sympathy.

They were about to begin making tracks when there was a gentle tapping noise, and all looked around to the kitchen windows to find a steely-grey owl sitting on the ledge, peering in and cocking its head, almost curiously. It watched patiently as Ron got up to open the window, taking the letter and grumbling as the bird began nibbling his fingers – not so patient anymore.

“George, go grab some change for this bloody thing, will you?”

“Why don’t you dig into _your_ pocket for a change?” George quipped.

“It’s not even for _me_ , it’s Harry’s letter,” Ron snapped.

“Mine?” Harry asked, unravelling his fingers from Draco’s as he stood up to take the letter from Ron. His brow furrowed in confusion as he looked the letter over, but then something about the handwriting seemed to click in his mind, and his gaze seemed far away. Excited, perhaps, but anxious all the same. “I’m just gunna go open it in the other room.”

“Oh, get off it, who’s it from?” Ginny piped up, straightening in her seat to peer over to Harry.

“None of your business,” Harry said with a smirk, lifting the letter away from Ginny’s outstretched arms, disappearing into one of the back rooms.

Ginny turned around to look at Draco. “Have you any idea what it is?” She asked, nosily.

Draco shrugged, looking as confused as the others. “Not a clue.”

Ginny’s gaze landed on Hermione desperately, and the woman mimicked Draco’s own shrug. “I’ll find out eventually,” She admitted.

“Force it out of him, more like. Honestly, you two are like bloody vultures,” Ron mumbled as he did, indeed, find some change in his own pockets, shooing the owl away in a hurry.

It felt like an age before Harry returned, looking flustered and distracted, but not even Hermione could dig any information out of him. If anything, the more she pushed, the more Harry clammed up. Even Draco was beginning to get curious, and by the look on Harry’s own face – a little nervous. He seemed utterly in his own world and was almost glad when Harry announced they should be making their way home.

Wriggling their way out of the Weasley’s grasps seemed to be an impossible task. More than once Arthur had seemingly forgotten a question to ask, and Molly appeared determined on not letting them leave without some leftover treats to take with them. Draco wasn’t in a rush to leave at all, considering the day had all but flown by, but he was eager to figure out just why Harry seemed so preoccupied.

Molly insisted they should come over again soon, and though Draco’s farewells to Ginny, Percy, Arthur and George were still somewhat awkward, he was sure he’d take Molly up on the offer if given the chance. Especially when she began mulling over what other colours might suit Draco, should she get time to knit that following week.

“ _Merlin_ , Mum, leave him alone,” Ginny said as she stepped out of the house to see the pair off, and Molly sighed before patting Draco on the arm and stepping back.

“Well, it’s just nice that some people appreciate the gifts I give them. When was the last time I saw you in a nice jumper?” Molly ranted, and Ginny rolled her eyes.

“We’ll see you both soon, no doubt,” Hermione interrupted, and Harry smiled at her gratefully.

Their voices trailed away as they walked partway down the dirt path, and soon enough the other’s retreated into the house, the only sign that anyone was there at all by the several chimney’s puffing out small tendrils of smoke or the lights flickering behind the windows. Harry was painfully quiet, and Draco could feel a slither of concern niggling at him.

“So,” Draco mumbled. “That was strangely pleasant.”

Harry snapped out of his daze and looked across to Draco, eyes eager and happy. “Yeah? I knew there wouldn’t be a problem.

Draco hummed a reply and reached for Harry’s hand, who gripped it tightly.

“Are you wanting to go straight home?” Harry asked, and again – Draco had the feeling there was something hiding in that question, except he didn’t know what it was.

“There’s no rush, I suppose. Any reason why?”

Draco had hardly finished his sentence before Harry rushed in. “Do you want to go for a walk somewhere?”

“A walk?” Draco repeated, furrowing his brow.

“Yeah, why not. It’s...it’s a nice evening, not too cold, just yet,” Harry said, looking anywhere but at Draco.

“Alright, then...” Draco said, slowly, and before he knew it, Harry was gripping his arm, and a brief sense of nausea filled him for a minute.

When he came to his senses, he could sense the chill of rushing water and smell the rich tones of high grass. They’d apparated alongside a riverbank somewhere, though Draco wasn’t entirely sure _where_ exactly He assumed it must be somewhere near the Burrow. The place was strangely overgrown, the trees and bushes so dense it felt as though they were hemmed in somehow. Harry let go of his arm and walked alongside the bank a little until a clearing opened in the foliage, shrugging off his jacket and laying it out on the grass.

Harry looked back to Draco and smiled, but the blond didn’t return the gesture, his mind was beginning to run away with him. Still, he walked over to where the jacket was laid and settled down on it, legs crossed, and Harry settled in beside him, his body a nice warmth against the chill the water seemed to cast against the air. He didn't point out to Harry that this didn't exactly fall into the category of a walk.

Any other time it would be relaxing. Any other time it might have been vaguely romantic. But Draco knew there was something hanging in the air with them, an uncertain thing, something that Harry was struggling to bring up. The seconds rolled on by and the pair found themselves almost lulled into a daze by the sound of rushing water, the wildlife around them twittering and chirping away as though the sunset was their cue to rise.

But Harry was thinking about that letter.

Excitement and fear riddled him in equal measures, and no matter how he came towards the discussion, none of it felt the right way to bring it up. Still, he knew it had to be done, and soon, he began to speak.

“Do you remember quite a while back...at Grimmauld place...you mentioned that you thought I’d be better as a teacher than I ever was as an Auror?”

“Vaguely, I suppose,” Draco said, tilting his head to look at Harry, but Harry’s own eyes were staring down rather intently at a long piece of grass, toying with it between his fingers. Harry’s expression changed, somewhat disheartened, and Draco spoke again as his mind and memories caught up. “You said I might be alright as a healer if I changed my bedside manners.”

Harry’s face broke into a blinding grin, and Draco watched his expression fondly, wanting nothing more than to reach out and touch him – but suddenly afraid that if he did, Harry would stop trying to talk about whatever he had on his mind.

“I reckon your bedside manners are decent enough, now,” Harry joked, before growing quiet again. Draco didn’t speak, let the other pick up his own train of thought again. “Did you mean it when you said I could be a teacher? Or a professor somewhere?”

 _So that was what the letter was about_ , Draco thought, though the idea of it seemed somehow detached from his subconscious. Instead, he said: “Of course I meant it. I was shocked it hadn’t occurred to you before.”

Harry finally brought his gaze up to meet the other man, and there was something so strangely electric about that gaze, as though a fire had been lit behind them, like Harry couldn’t contain a whole array of emotions, from his deepest fears to his most ambitious excitement.

But, he didn’t speak, he only rummaged around in the coat they were sat on, finally discovering the pocket and pulling out the letter from earlier, already looking frayed as though Harry hadn’t been able to stop reading over it. He offered it to the other man, but Draco didn’t reach out to take it – he knew exactly what it was. Harry’s expression faltered for the tiniest of moments.

“You’re not going to start insisting I call you professor, now, are you?” Draco smirked.

Harry let out a burst of nerve-driven laughter before it settled into something more genuine. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking back to the letter in his hand as though he still couldn’t believe it. Draco had never felt more proud of anyone in his life, even if the entire idea terrified him.

“Only if you’re being a brat,” Harry chuckled.

“Right, so most of the time, then,” Draco replied with a small grin.

Harry was moving towards him before Draco could even register what was happening, pulling him into a tight hug, tucking his face against Draco’s neck and letting out a sigh of relief.

“I was scared to mention it, you know,” Harry mumbled, nuzzling the warm skin of Draco’s neck, grinning to himself as he saw Draco shiver in response.

“I didn’t even know you were looking into it,” Draco said, a little sadly.

“It was...um, well, on a bit of a whim, I suppose. I wasn’t expecting to get a response so quickly.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Draco said, and Harry let out another chuckle.

Harry pulled away, arms still resting on Draco’s shoulders, looking at his face as though studying him.

“You’re not...upset, are you?”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be upset? I’m proud of you.”

Harry grinned again and couldn’t help but press a chaste kiss to Draco’s lips.

“It’s just...things will be different, I suppose.”

Draco must have tensed because Harry was quick to stutter out a few more words.

“Not between _us_ , obviously. Just...I mean...I might have to get rid of the flat. I probably will if everything goes okay...nothing’s set in stone yet, but...”

“I can handle ‘different’,” Draco assured, and Harry felt like he might burst with the happiness he felt at those words.

It was all the comfort he needed.


	24. Resilience

Narcissa was like a bloodhound when it came to her son’s mood. 

Something was brooding within him. Despite the smiles and the stiff back and the unusual stream of chatter he dipped into when Narcissa tried to question him, she knew something was wrong. It was written all over Draco, even if he didn’t realise it. His leg jittering up and down at the kitchen table. How he couldn’t seem to settle in one room for more than half an hour. His seemingly endless trips to Diagon Alley, a little notebook settled on the kitchen counter striking off job after job application he’d either been downright refused or never heard from. 

The problem was, she wasn’t used to having such discussions with him. 

Worries had been no concern in the Malfoy household because they were smothered under useless gifts and displays of wealth, and in some not-so-sweet instances, downright drowned under nothing more than a glare or a scathing remark from Lucius. Narcissa’s knee-jerk reaction had been vicious but necessary. If anything ever directly threatened Draco, she would find ways to soften the blow or eradicate it. God forbid anyone who ever threatened him within plain view. 

This was a different affair entirely, and she couldn’t help but feel utterly useless as a parent because of it. 

She’d tried so many times to coax Draco into conversation about it only to have him grow uneasy and defensive, and as much as she’d grown fond of the Granger girl and her absolute tenacity when it came to the Ministry, or any other puzzle in her life, she feared to try bringing it up to her privately - like she’d be nothing more than gossiping with one of Draco’s own friends. 

Instead, Narcissa did what she did best – and kept her eyes and ears open. 

Draco’s checklist did not go unnoticed, and though it riled her to see so many opportunities clearly pulled away from her son over a war he’d had no right to get dragged into, over the one thing she could never entirely shield him from, she made her own mental copy and put the notes back wherever they belonged. It was only on a whim when Draco had left the small book sitting on the coffee table in the lounge that she decided to flick through the pages more thoroughly. Right at the back, as though hidden away, as though _ashamed_ to even consider it, was a simple word – healer. 

Narcissa smiled sadly down at the handwriting, feeling her breath catch in her throat just a fraction. Something in those words tugged her heart in two ways. Pride swelled within her as it often had over the years with her boy, but something impossibly sad settled beside it, too.

How much more did her son think he had to pay back? Hadn't the past few miserable, frightening years been enough?

The word hung with her for more days than she could count, and for the first time in months – sleep evaded her. Narcissa had no real interest in dipping into any world outside the Manor again, and she was at peace with that knowledge. She knew the same couldn’t be true for her son - and wouldn’t want it to be so. Along with it, she knew she couldn’t keep hovering like she did, interfering with his life even if she thought it for the best. 

That much was clear if the fond looks the Potter boy gave Draco were any indication - she wondered where on Earth her son might be if that odd relationship hadn’t flourished because of her concerns.

Narcissa waited, and waited, and waited. She listened to her son. She kept an eye out for the book. 

Day after day, the word stuck out in the back pages, nothing else scribbled alongside it, as though the idea had been forgotten entirely. But Narcissa could not forget it. If this was to be the final straw of her interfering, so be it. 

Draco was out when Narcissa decided she couldn’t sit back any longer, needed to nudge her son in the right direction – if only a fraction. 

Her heart pounded viciously as she stood on the stairs leading up to the Manor’s front door, looking up at the building as though worried the shutters would fly down and she’d be trapped outside forever. Sweat began to pool across her forehead, and every bone in her body seemed to scream at her to go back inside.

She hadn't quite grasped the scope of her ingrained fears, but in that moment she understood them clearly. If anyone could have seen her then, they would not have seen a proud, upstanding member of the Malfoy legacy, but a woman who's own terror nearly outweighed the care she felt for her son. And yet, she turned away from the house.

She refused to give up.

With every step, her limbs seemed to loosen, and though her heart did not feel brave at all, she lifted her chin as she strolled away from the house - and pretended it helped her feel brave.

~-*-~

Draco had just sat down with Hermione and Ginny in the Leaky Cauldron when Narcissa arrived in Diagon Alley, though he would have never known it then.

As always, Hermione was doing her absolute best to bridge the gap between Draco and the rest of the Weasley’s, knowing without him saying a word that he was still waiting for the big joke to hit home. The anxious little creature in his mind had no such luck feeding on that idea, because by all accounts – Ginny took it in her stride, as she did with most things.

The woman hadn't so much as hesitated when Hermione had asked her to join them for a few drinks and dinner. If anything, she'd been excited to see how the day would pan out, even if her way of dealing with reservations about Draco made their way through more than a few close-to-the-bone jokes.

Draco both applauded Ginny on her ability to dig out touchy subjects to laugh about them - and hated her for it in equal measure. 

“I can’t believe you wear those things,” Ginny exclaimed, tucking a streak of fiery hair behind her ear. It slipped out almost instantly, the length not permitting her any control over what it wanted to do. 

Draco had received yet another jumper in the mail, this time directly to the Manor, and though his Mother’s nose had twitched slightly as he unwrapped the garment, Draco was beyond pleased to have received it. This one was a dark, navy blue. 

“I can’t believe you don’t,” Draco shot back with a small smile. 

“It’s a shame you didn’t turn over a new leaf sooner,” Ginny said. “You could have had the lot of ours at Christmas.” 

“As much as I may have fallen from grace, I doubt even I could stand to sport your house colours,” Draco said with mock-disgust, and Ginny laughed. 

“You’ve had it now - soon as I see Mum I’m telling her your favourite colours are red and gold.” 

“You wouldn’t.” 

“Is that a dare?” Ginny grinned, leaning over the table to leer at Draco. 

“Budge up a second, Ginny,” Hermione cut in as a round of drinks came to their table. 

Draco had been a little reluctant to cut off his time searching for a job to meet the pair but was glad he had. He didn’t realise how strained he was becoming with the whole thing until he had a second to breathe.

Ever since Harry had announced he had a shot at teaching at Hogwarts, Draco had felt a sort of urgency to figure out his own path. The problem was, he was just about settled to accept anything at this point, even if it made him miserable. To boot, Harry had become so busy they were struggling to even get a moment’s peace with each other. 

“-did he mention anything about it to you?” Hermione asked. 

Draco tuned back into the conversation, not realising he’d lost his train of thought. 

“Sorry, what?” 

“Teaching!” Hermione said, exasperated. “Did he mention anything about looking into teaching with you? I couldn’t believe it when he told us all.” 

“Briefly...but it was a fair while back, and we were still hardly on great terms then, if I remember,” Draco replied. 

“Aw, how times change,” Ginny grinned, and Draco felt himself flush a little. 

“Honestly, I can hardly keep up,” Hermione muttered, almost to herself. 

“I never saw Harry as the teaching type,” Ginny admitted. “I thought he’d be stuck as an Auror for good. Never thought for one minute he’d have hated it...then again, look at how much Ron rattled on about it. He’s the happiest I’ve seen him in that bloody shop, now.” 

“You know what he’s like,” Hermione said. “He enjoyed it enough, I think, but the novelty wears off...at least at the shop he can keep working on new things, he was tired of seeing the same old cases."

Draco was mid-way through a sip of his drink when Ginny’s next question caught him off guard - and he had to try not to choke. 

“Do you reckon the pair of you will be moving in together, then?” Ginny asked, feigning innocence. 

“Pardon?” Draco said, instantly regretting playing dumb by the look Ginny gave him. 

“If you’re pretending on my account – don't,” She said, and Draco thought she might have been annoyed if she wasn’t smiling softly. “Mine and Harry’s preferences went separate ways a long time ago, makes no difference to me.” 

“Lovely way to put him on the spot, Ginny,” Hermione scolded, casting Draco a sympathetic look. 

“I’m not trying to put him on the spot, I was just _asking_ ,” Ginny said, annoyance starting to prick at her words and colour her cheeks. “You two just seem...close.” 

“I’ve not really had time to think about it,” Draco said quietly, and it was the truth. 

Everything had come so thick and fast, and Harry had been so busy, that they hadn’t had time to even discuss where Harry was going to move. He could be living on the grounds for all Draco knew, and it wouldn’t matter regardless if Draco couldn’t land a job of his own - and fast.

The stubborn part of him refused to even consider moving in with anyone if he couldn’t support himself, the Malfoy’s fortune entirely out of the question. It was a persistent, prideful thought that he couldn’t shake off. In a way, he didn't want to give anyone else more fuel than he had to, seeing Draco sat with the world at his feet where others lost everything.

Ginny was about to hit Draco with another set of questions, but Hermione’s swift and painful kick under the table scattered the thought. Ginny winced and shot a glare at Hermione, who held her gaze, and the redhead admitted defeat. 

“Anyway, speaking of jobs, how’s that promotion going at the Ministry?” Ginny said, though her voice was tight as the ache in her leg wavered. 

“I’m glad you asked,” Hermione said, sweetly. 

Draco shook his head with a smile, leaning forward onto the table as Hermione told them that although Kingsley wasn’t showing any signs of leaving soon, she was quickly heading towards the head of her department - if she had anything to do about it, at least. 

~-*-~

Diagon Alley was a lot quieter by the time the trio had left the Leaky Cauldron. They’d drank, talked, and eventually ordered dinner, and though Ginny still found odd little questions to get under Draco’s skin - such as insinuating he'd been cut off from the family fortune and had eyes for Harry as a way to win back some of said fortune and fame - he’d had a brilliant afternoon.

He was quickly learning not to take her sense of humour too seriously, even if it somehow managed to make him squirm every time. It was clear she was dealing with old habits and memories in her own way. Where others might have taken a more cruel route, it seemed Ginny could only move on by airing out dirty laundry, only to giggle about it seconds later.

Still, he had a horrible feeling his visits to the Burrow were going to get even more awkward before they got better – but Draco found he wasn’t too disheartened by the thought.

For an hour, he wandered up and down the shops, still trying to keep an eye out for any positions, not surprised when he didn’t come up lucky with any. The disappointment was beginning to take a softer form. The pang of sadness he’d felt in those first few attempts had been the worst, but he was at the point where he almost accepted the pain, couldn’t find it in himself to be too crestfallen. All too soon, he was heading back to the Manor, the cogs in his head whirring annoyingly, trying to think where he could try and head next - and have a slither of a chance. 

The Manor was as quiet as ever as he stepped through the door, and he was surprised not to find Narcissa tucked away in the kitchen over a book. He called down the hallway to no reply, and for a minute an awful sense of fear flooded him. It was as though he’d been transported back in time, wandering down the hallways, knowing an intruder could be lurking around the corner. He knew it was ridiculous, but his hand searched for his wand regardless, pressing down on it – assuring himself he wasn’t entirely helpless. 

As it turned out, Narcissa was holed away in one of the studies. 

She looked up quickly as the door opened, and Draco let out a small sigh of relief. 

“I was wondering where you were,” Draco said, sluggishly taking in the litter of papers scattered across one of the desks Narcissa was seated at. He raised an eyebrow, but she said very little, mulling over the documents around her. 

“Yes, I can’t remember the last time I stepped foot in here. It was always your Father’s favourite place to hide,” She mumbled. 

Draco let out a quick laugh, before moving over to where Narcissa was sat. There seemed to be a mountain of paperwork before her, and he squinted over her shoulder to try and figure out what it was. As he took in the words, confusion came over him, and a thousand more emotions seemed to follow. He furrowed his brow and, eventually, Narcissa looked up, as though trying to figure out what his reaction would be. 

“Trainee Healer?” Draco mumbled. 

Narcissa seemed to be expecting him to say more - but he couldn’t. After a beat he pulled up a chair and settled down into it, still gazing at the papers. 

“Yes, and before you get irritated over my snooping, you were more than happy to leave that book of yours laying around wherever you pleased.” 

“I don’t know why you bothered,” Draco said, almost defensively. He felt an instant pang of guilt as something in Narcissa’s face cracked. “I wouldn’t have a prayer. It’s not exactly a great benefit having our family name anymore.” 

“Don’t be silly,” Narcissa said, her expression almost pained. “You’re more than capable of enrolling-” 

“It’s not about whether I’m capable,” Draco sighed. “It wouldn’t matter if I could turn a stone into gold – no one wants to be associated with me.” 

“You’re being ridiculous,” Narcissa snapped, turning back to the papers and straightening them up into her hands. 

“I’m being realistic,” Draco said, and something about those words made Narcissa stop in her tracks. “You must have seen how many places I’ve been, and how many have turned me away. And it’s...I’ve accepted it. If I can just find anything _,_ I’ll be happy at this point.” 

“And I know you well enough to know that is a _lie_ ,” Narcissa said, voice so low it was hardly audible. 

“Perhaps,” Draco admitted. 

Narcissa seemed as though she had nothing more to stay, and Draco was about to stand when she took the papers from her desk, reordered them, and offered them to her son. His face fell, but she pushed them forward a fraction more, her grip tight and steady. 

“Draco Malfoy, I did not go out of my way to visit the Ministry today, to be told to trail all the way to St. Mungo’s, and back here again - for you to not give it a chance at all,” Narcissa said, her voice sterner than Draco had ever heard it. 

Draco looked away from the papers to his Mother’s determined eyes, and his heart ached as he noticed tears welling up there, too.

“You left the house for these?” He asked, quietly. 

Narcissa nodded, and Draco took the papers. He leafed through, studied them - and put them down to one side. All the fight seemed to leave Narcissa at once, her shoulder’s drooping for a moment, something within herself close to breaking. She wondered, again, over and over, how much more Draco expected to torture himself because of the mistakes _she_ had made, because _she_ hadn't been able to protect him like a mother should, because she had been so blind...

Then her son was holding her, murmuring his thanks against the side of her head, pressing a kiss against her cheek. 

Narcissa was glad she had been brave that day, glad that her son was choosing to be, too.

Perhaps she had not done so badly after all.

~-*-~

Draco filled in the application that very night. 

He sent the papers away, and for a blissful instant, he was gifted the pleasure of truly not knowing what might come back to him. One minute he was sure this would be his lucky break, the next he was beyond certain that they would as soon burn his application than even read it. He felt the warmth of his Mother’s pride so keenly that no matter what the outcome, Draco was sure he could handle it. 

A few days later, a response arrived. 

His application had been rejected. 

Draco mulled over the words for the longest time, feeling a pit open in his stomach. He read the words over and over again, as though they may change if he looked hard enough.

But the words stayed the same. 

_‘We’re sorry to inform you that, on this occasion, we must reject your application for the position of Trainee Healer at St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. As you can imagine, demand for this position is exceptionally high. We received an influx of strong applications, and although yours was one of them, we’re afraid it has not made it into the final selection.’_

Draco’s attention was pulled from the letter as Narcissa announced she was going to take a trip to Diagon Alley to pick up some pastries for Hermione’s next visit. 

While she was gone, he filled in a second application. 

The next rejection came while he was having dinner with Harry, Ron and Hermione. Ron had complained again about the owl nibbling aggressively at his fingers as he passed the letter over, and though three pairs of eyes had been on him, Draco’s face didn’t fall once as he read the same words again. He didn’t submit to Hermione’s probing, didn’t wilt under Harry’s curious gaze, and all but threw a wad of change Ron’s way. 

When he got home, he filled in a third. 

It was becoming almost an inside joke between Draco and his Mother. If an owl so much flew across the grounds, Narcissa was the first to announce that it looked like Draco’s hundredth rejection was coming in - and she might not have been wrong. Still, she was the first to grab him a quill so he could fill out the next application.

He seemed to forget all about his initial job search. Instead, he spent his time firing off repeated applications and supporting Harry with his own career change. It felt like the days had become a mess of paperwork and training days, and though Harry often returned to his flat exhausted, he made a point of dragging Draco over whenever he got a second to breathe. Draco had absolutely no reason to complain.

Harry had just drifted off to sleep beside him one night when Draco heard a gentle tapping somewhere within the flat.

For a moment, he debated ignoring it, knowing that Harry wouldn’t wake up even if Voldemort reanimated and blew down the bedroom door. Draco was a light sleeper, though, and the tapping seemed to be drilling a hole into his skull. Reluctantly, he untangled himself from Harry’s vice-like grip and slipped out of the bedroom. 

Draco blinked, mimicking the bird settled on the windowsill outside the kitchen until the creature came clearly into few. It hooted, puffing up its feathers, pecking manically at the window again. Draco rushed over and cursed under his breath. When he grabbed the letter, he recognised the print immediately. Of all the times to get a rejection letter, he hadn’t been expecting one in the middle of the night. 

He stumbled around the kitchen, opening drawers as quickly and as quietly as he could for some loose change to send the offending bird on its way. Silence settled over the flat as Draco closed the window again, and though his eyes were still adjusting to the dark, he couldn’t help but rip the letter open, certain he could recite the rejection letter off by heart - even if he couldn’t see it properly. 

Draco read over the words and frowned. 

Slowly, he walked over to the window in the living room and opened the curtains. A slither of moonlight fell on the paper, and he read it again. They still hadn’t changed. Draco moved a hand to the back of his head and rubbed his neck, biting the inside of his cheek, still staring down at the letter as though it was written in gibberish. 

Calmly, he walked back into the bedroom. Harry was fast asleep, snoring quietly, dark hair fanned across the pillow. Draco watched him for a second. No matter how many times he saw the man at peace in his sleep, a surge of affection always seemed to rush over him – like it would never get old. Truthfully, Draco was entirely certain he would _never_ tire of seeing it. Harry was handsome enough to make his heart swell in the most mundane of situations, but there was something about seeing all the cares in the world fade from Harry's face as he slept that tugged at his emotions relentlessly. Draco almost felt sorry to ruin it. Almost.

Paying no mind to being quiet, Draco launched himself onto the bed and straddled Harry who woke with a start. 

“What on _earth_ -” Harry slurred. 

“Get your glasses,” Draco said. 

“What?” 

“I _said_ , get your glasses.” 

“Have you absolutely lost it? What _time_ is it?” Harry whined. 

“ _Potter_ , if you don’t get your glasses and read this _immediately_ _there’s_ going to be a serious problem.” 

“You’re asking a man who’s blind as a bat to read something at _this_ time of night,” Harry grumbled, stretching as far as he could to snag his glasses between two fingers. He put them on, staring up at Draco’s almost-panicked expression. For a second, he felt incredibly worried, before a piece of parchment was being shoved in his face. 

Draco was practically vibrating with nerves as he waited for Harry’s response. Vaguely, he could see a smile began to creep onto the other man’s face before Harry was pulling him down, kissing him with such vigour that it left Draco breathless. Harry wasted no time in flipping them over, leaning over to kiss every inch of Draco’s skin he could reach. 

“Have I ever told you how proud I am of you?” Harry asked as he pressed his lips against Draco’s jawline. 

“Probably,” Draco responded between a huff of laughter. “You can keep telling me if you want, though.” 

Harry laughed, his voice still thick with sleep, running a thumb across Draco’s cheek, nudging the other's nose with his own. Draco couldn’t help but grin at the childish display of affection, though he’d never dare complain about it - he'd have to be out of his mind.

“You kept that quiet.” 

“I didn’t think anything would come of it,” Draco admitted. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Harry whispered again, and Draco pulled him into a kiss as his only response. 

The acceptance letter slid from the bed and out of sight – but definitely not forgotten. The words gazed up at the ceiling innocently, not knowing the change they had made, not knowing that for a handful of people - they had meant the world.


	25. Moving On

Harry woke from his dreams, slowly and gently, wincing slightly as his eyes opened to a hot streak of sun cutting through his bedroom window. He felt like he could have slept for another age, but an irritating sense of responsibility kept nagging him to get up. If that didn’t work, Draco would no doubt be storming in at any moment. Harry could already hear him pottering around in the living room, muttering to himself.

He sat up, stretching, taking in the blurry image of his soon-to-be old bedroom. Grabbing for his glasses he realised it was still a shock to find the flat he’d grown so used to look so empty. His wardrobe had been all but emptied, tatty furniture taken out, and no doubt the second he got out of bed it would end up stripped-down and stowed away, most of it ready to be kept at the Manor for the foreseeable future while he was away.

Still, a part of him wanted to linger.

Harry couldn’t count how many times he’d woken up in this flat, dreading his day at work, not wanting to move a muscle. But at the same time, it had been an absolute blessing to return home, surrounded by fond memories, knowing he had a place to escape. Then, slowly, it had become a joint sanctuary. A start. Harry had honestly never thought he’d have a reason to leave. Things had seemed so stagnant. So one-dimensional.

And now he was leaving it behind.

A smile crept onto Harry’s face and he found it in himself to get up and get ready. With a lazy flick of his wand, and more than a few yawns, the bedding was stripped and packed away. He checked under the bed and found a sock he was sure was Draco’s, sniggering to himself, and dumped it in the box along with it.

“You’ll never guess what I found?” Harry asked as he wandered into the living room, dumping the box on top of a steadily growing tower of others.

“Go on?” Draco asked, idly browsing through the books on Harry’s shelf before packing them away, one by one.

“The _sock,”_ Harry announced, dramatically.

“ _The_ sock?” Draco repeated, huffing out a laugh.

Harry nodded proudly before Draco dissolved into chuckles.

“I wondered where that bloody thing snuck off to,” Draco mumbled. “Is the bedroom done?”

“Yeah, think so,” Harry said, rubbing the back of his neck and glancing around the room. He felt both motivated and completely overwhelmed, and Draco seemed to notice.

“It’s not as bad as it looks in here,” Draco said. “There’s really only a few cupboards left in the kitchen to sort through, thanks to yours truly.”

Harry moved over and slumped down to the floor where Draco sat, wrapping his arms around him from behind, nestling his chin on Draco’s shoulder. “What would I do without you?” He asked, pressing a still-sleepy kiss against the other’s neck.

Draco smirked to himself. “Wallow in self-pity and not get anything done, probably. Mourn the day you let Draco Malfoy out of your grasp. _Wither_ away-”

Draco was cut off by fingers digging into his sides. He hunched forward to try and get away, but the laughter still bubbled out regardless. “Will you _stop_ it, we’ve got work to do-”

“I'm too busy _withering away_ to do work,” Harry pouted, resuming his gentle hold around Draco – though the other still flinched suspiciously as Harry’s hands settled around his middle. “Not my fault you’re so distracting, anyway.”

“Flattery will get you nothing on this occasion, Potter.”

“Worth a shot,” Harry admitted, pressing a firm kiss against Draco’s cheek before standing up, heading into the kitchen to pack a final few things away.

In no time at all, and with more than a bit of pushing from Draco, the entire flat was near-emptied by noon. They’d spent more than a few moments looking over forgotten photos, trinkets, or items of clothing that had been mysteriously discarded and forgotten behind the sofa. Though both of them felt a certain sadness about the move, there was something terribly exciting mixed in with it. Draco couldn’t help the solemn look on his face as he glanced around the rooms, though.

Harry watched as Draco busied himself, tidying and re-checking boxes, seemingly doing anything to avoid slowing down and thinking for a moment. He recalled how often Draco was prone to do it, whether it was aggressively ruffling and smoothing his hair down, pulling buttons loose only to redo them – a hectic sort of motivation, all to keep himself busy before nerves settled in.

“Draco, you need to sit down, it’s all sorted,” Harry reminded, gently.

Draco stopped in his tracks and turned to the other man, who was peering up at him with a knowing smile from the sofa. There were no more crimson blankets thrown over it anymore. No cushions. It looked painfully bare. It was only then Draco realised how horrible the flat actually _was_ without all of Harry’s things. He held himself back from saying so, too overcome with nerves and excitement to truly care.

“I know it is,” Draco muttered.

“Then _breathe_.”

Draco let out a huff of air subconsciously and Harry couldn’t help but chuckle, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

“It’s just... _weird_ ,” Draco announced.

“I know.”

“We’re not going to see this place again, now. That’s _it_.”

“Yep.”

“And I’ll be stuck back at the Manor on my own for Merlin knows how long,” Draco sighed.

“It won’t be long at all if I have anything to do about it,” Harry said, almost sternly.

They’d known it would be coming, that moving out wouldn’t be so simple given everything that had transpired, but Draco felt he had a _right_ to be a little impatient about it. After all, he’d spent the better part of his life stuck in some miserable time loop. Now things were finally changing, it felt as though they were happening at a snail’s pace. At the same time, he wouldn’t want to rush the experience for the world. He wanted to fully appreciate settling into a career, watch Harry flourish into his own path in life – house hunting, really, should be at the bottom of the list.

It didn’t stop either of them from wanting, though.

“I _know_ ,” Draco admitted, flopping down onto the sofa beside Harry who wrapped an arm around him instinctively, hand moving to play with the hair at the nape of Draco’s neck. Automatically, Draco seemed to melt a little, despite how much he _wanted_ to be in a bad mood. Harry smiled, mostly to himself, holding back from kissing the annoyance out of Draco’s features.

“Anyway, you’ll need a bit of peace and quiet to study up before you start your training,” Harry reminded. “It’s probably for the best.”

Draco groaned and felt his stomach flip. Any mention of his start at St. Mungo’s seemed to smother him in nerves. “I was rather hoping you’d be around as a distraction.”

Harry let out a gentle laugh, settling back into the sofa, watching Draco’s features for a moment. Though the man was restless, there was none of that usual anxiety carved into his face, not really anyway. What was there was justified and natural. Something that Draco could get a handle on and turn into something productive. A notion Harry was endlessly proud to recognise.

It didn't stop him from feeling guilty.

Ever since Harry had discovered there were no houses available around Hogsmeade he must have spent hundreds of sleepless nights trying to rationalise some other way for them to move in together. He was still looking for other avenues, just as eager as Draco to have a fresh start, but there was nothing he could do to change the reality of it.

He’d pestered McGonagall endlessly on his visits about letting him know if she heard of something suitable, but every visit he made back to the school proved fruitless. In the end, he’d agreed to stay on the grounds for a few months before term so he could get to grips with his new role and start planning the course. McGonagall was as strict about those details as ever.

Inside, he was praying he found something before term started and things no doubt grew hectic. Equally – he wasn’t entirely confident that would come to pass.

“Is there anything going on upstairs or are you drooling over me again?” Draco asked in a drawling voice, one that had somehow become a caricature of its former self.

“When am I not drooling over you?” Harry smirked.

“I’ll let you have that one.”

“How kind of you.”

Silence fell swiftly down on their teasing, something heavy but not entirely unpleasant filling the flat, like some final, puzzling thing was slotting into place. They let it wash over them. Listened to the gentle chatter of noise outside the window, watched as dust motes twirled across the living room in the afternoon sun, looked at boxes and boxes of memories. Mostly they wondered, in a content sort of way, what more was to come. The future wasn’t some frightening dark corridor.

It felt like an open field.

Just when the silence seemed to drag on for an age, Draco shifted, something turning in the cogs in his head. The idea must have pleased him somehow because a flicker of a smile kept washing over his face, something fond and happy dipping in and out behind his eyes.

“I think green would look good in a kitchen, don’t you?” Draco asked, quietly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at the odd question and let out a mellow laugh, as though he didn’t want to scare away the odd calm that had come over them. “Green, really? That’s original for a Slytherin.”

“Not _that_ kind of green...like a...sage colour.”

“We’re definitely having a red bedroom then,” Harry smirked, bracing himself instantly for the reaction.

Draco wrinkled his nose. “That’s _tacky_.”

“If you want that green kitchen you better get used to it.”

“Oh, _please_. If it’s anything like Grimmauld Place I’ll be decorating the entire place from floor to ceiling.”

“I mean,” Harry lifted a hand to shift a strand of hair from Draco’s eyes. “I was vaguely hoping it wouldn’t be anything like Grimmauld Place, honestly.”

“It wouldn’t matter if it was,” Draco said, a smile tugging at his lips. “I could make the Shrieking Shack liveable.”

Harry let out a laugh and pressed a kiss to Draco’s temple. “I’ll make enquiries then.”

Draco eyed Harry with mock-suspicion as he stood up, taking the hand that was outstretched to him and righting himself. “Something without ghosts would be preferable, though.”

“We’ll find something,” Harry assured, pressing his lips against Draco’s own as though it was a way of promising it. “Soon. And it’ll be perfect.”

“I know.” Draco smiled.

The rest of the day was both just as painful as they expected, but far easier to handle, as well.

They moved the boxes over to the Manor and stored them away in one of the unused sitting rooms. Harry finalised papers and relinquished ownership of the flat. They spent a pleasant afternoon with Draco’s mother, who seemed to clock onto their nerves and do everything within her grasp to distract them for a few hours with idly chatter and more than a few plates of food and cups of tea. Soon enough, though, Harry was putting together a suitcase of clothes and essentials whilst Draco hovered over in the doorway and watched, eyes sad but proud.

Far too soon, Harry was saying goodbye.


	26. Nostalgia

Harry looked up at the castle, and something in his chest tightened.

No matter how many times he returned, just the sight of the place filled him with such unbridled joy it was hard not to stand there grinning like a loon. On his brief visits back and forth to discuss details with McGonagall he must have spent countless minutes stood there, taking in the breeze, craning his neck to squint at the tallest tower overlooking the courtyard, his whole body feeling light and dreamlike as he stepped beyond those enormous doors, nostalgia washing over him in strong waves.

Harry’s footsteps echoed across the footbridge as though his brain need not tell them a thing. It was instinctive - he knew this place better than he knew himself sometimes. It was a familiarity he’d never forgotten and only now he couldn’t decide if he was happy to experience it again, or sad that he hadn’t returned sooner. The only thing that could have made it any better was knowing that he’d be able to return home to Draco that night. Harry tried not to dwell on that fact, even as it left a lingering ache in his chest.

The unmistakable sound of a clock clunking and water trickling filled Harry’s ears as he advanced onto the courtyard, his footsteps slowed and Harry took a minute to settle down by the fountain, suitcase between his legs. It was decidedly overcast, but even that couldn’t sour his mood. More and more often Harry kept drifting into this strange sense of peace, feeling the need to settle down and take in his surroundings. It was as though his body was urging him to slow down, trying to balance the excitement of the past few months with some reflection.

Harry jolted and turned his head at the sound of doors rumbling open, and his face automatically split into a wide grin as McGonagall walked a few steps out of the doorway – clearly waiting for him. Though her face was set into a stern expression, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked as though asking what he was doing _relaxing_ when there was work to be done – there was a distinctive smile beginning to tug at her mouth.

“Morning, Headmistress,” Harry called out, standing straight and grabbing for his case.

“You’re late, Potter,” She remarked, though there was nothing truly scathing in the tone.

Harry’s eyebrow raised as he grew closer. “I thought I was just about on time.”

“Not on my account, you weren’t. Early is on time, on time is _late_.”

Harry chuckled a little. “I’ll remember that.”

“I’m sure you will,” She said, and her face finally broke out into a broad smile, pressing a hand against Harry’s back as she ushered him inside, her own small sign of affection. “You’re in for a busy few weeks, Potter, but I suggest you spend today unpacking your things and have a well-deserved rest. Though, I have a feeling you’ll be getting visitors before long.”

Harry followed her lead, surprised at how nimble the woman still seemed to be at her age because she near enough glided down the halls as they made their way towards what would soon become Harry’s classroom. It felt like he had been replaced by his younger self, being introduced into a strange world that had both taken away, and yet given him everything.

In that moment, he was not a man who had experienced far more death and grief in his life so far than many would ever see. He was but a young boy, grinning back as portraits gasped and greeted him affectionately, suits of armour glinting back at him as though ready to jump into action, experiencing the warmth of the castle as though for the first time again.

For some odd reason, this time felt even sweeter.

They arrived at the door of Harry’s classroom and entered. It was surprisingly vacant - utterly plain. There were no trinkets or books or quills or artifacts lining the walls and desks, and a sheet of dust seemed to be settling down across the room with every second that passed. Though Harry knew that there had been a string of Auror’s covering the position after all that had transpired after the war, it looked as though no one had stepped foot inside there for years. It was clear none of the previous occupants had considered it a permanent position.

McGonagall held back a little near the doorway as Harry wandered around the classroom. She watched, almost with pride, while he looked around slowly, as though trying to map out what he might put there over the years. Something about that filled him with renewed excitement, even if all he had to offer in the moment was a small suitcase of essentials.

“I’ve said it before, Potter, and you’ll have to forgive me for saying it again. I was waiting for that letter for far too long,” McGonagall said, smiling fondly.

“I’m not quite sure why I waited so long either,” Harry admitted, his eyes twinkling with a whirlwind of emotions. “I suppose I still had a few things work through.”

“Well, late as it is…it’s good to have you here,” Minerva said, and meant it right down to her bones. “I expect nothing shy of excellence from you, for however long you choose to stay with us.”

“I’ll do my best,” Harry smiled.

“I suppose I should leave you to get settled in for the day, then. Should you need anything, you know where to find me. I want to see you bright and early tomorrow morning.”

Harry thanked her and soon enough the woman was leaving, her footsteps echoing in brisk patterns down the hallway until silence fell across the room. Harry’s green eyes glanced across the open space yet again, as though trying to seal the classroom into his memories, even if it was already a terribly familiar sight. Slowly, as though not to disturb the soothing quiet, Harry leant back against one of the desks, a hand running across the scratched wood.

His heart felt full.

~-*-~

Harry could have sworn he heard footsteps, but the second he looked away from his notes – the sound ceased. He’d just finished unpacking his personal belongings in the chambers connected to his office, papers scattered across a small desk, and if Hermione could have seen him then she’d have been beaming from ear to ear. Harry didn’t think he’d ever studied or prepared for something so thoroughly in his life.

Just as Harry’s thoughts were drifting into sentimentally again, overcome by the knowledge that these were _his_ chambers, connected to _his_ office, near a classroom _he_ would teach in – the footsteps started again and a familiar voice drifted through the open doors in his department.

“Harry? I hope you’re not too busy…”

Harry dropped his notes and headed out into his office, and as he emerged out into the open space of his classroom there was a bubble of happy laughter. Harry grinned, wide and honest and warm, at his old friend.

“Alright, Neville?” Harry asked, not waiting for a reply before he was bounding over to the other man, pulling him into a brief hug.

Neville patted Harry’s back and pulled away, face flushed and smiling. “Not too bad, and you certainly don’t seem too bad yourself.”

“Couldn’t be better,” Harry agreed. “I feel like I’ve not seen you in an age, you never seemed to be around when I dropped by.”

Neville flushed a little as though embarrassed. “Well, I’ve had my hands full,” He admitted, and Harry had a strong feeling he’d find out why soon enough. “I kept meaning to drop by, but I figured you and McGonagall would be busy.”

“Well, better late than never,” Harry smiled, and Neville beamed back at him.

“Fancy a walk?” Neville asked. “You should see the greenhouses lately, _Merlin_ …if you’re busy, though-“

“Not busy at all,” Harry interrupted. “Anyway, I’ve been wanting to stretch my legs.”

Neville’s face flooded with excitement, and the pair made their way out of the classroom, chattering all the way down to the grounds, as though they couldn’t catch up with each other fast enough.

~-*-~

The clouds outside had dispersed somewhat, and a glint of sunlight was beginning to make itself known, staving off some of the cold breeze that drifted around the castle.

Neville had positively bloomed into thrilled chatter, and Harry wouldn’t have had a prayer trying to sway the conversation away from the greenhouses they were now advancing on. Harry was more than happy to listen, though, and wouldn’t have tried to cut in even if he could. It was clear Neville was in his element, and once again Harry kicked himself for not seeing things the same way sooner. Neville had departed from the Ministry quicker than any of them, and for good reason, it appeared.

“-there’s no telling a few of them, though. They’re feisty little things, I don’t think they were expecting the bulbs to have so much fight in them. One of them slipped out of their hands and smacked a poor girl in the face. Pomfrey was livid when she saw her black eye. I’ve still not heard the end of it.”

Harry chuckled, remembering one of many times he’d had some mishap in Herbology. It was easy to forget how ‘feisty’ plants could be, as Neville put it. As they entered one of the greenhouses, Harry was nearly shocked to silence. It was positively full of life. It had never in all his years of schooling been so full and so _green_. Harry’s eyes were pinned to the roof of the greenhouse where some long, tentacled plant was swaying and slithering across the glass like a snake, insects buzzing and chittering away among it all.

His eyes were so glued to the sight in front of him that his foot kicked a wooden bucket settled innocently next to the doorway. He jumped in surprise as a handful of red toadstools leapt out from it as though mimicking his shock. One of them slipped over the lip of the bucket and began valiantly jumping to escape. Neville let out a chuckle.

“I really should move those, I’ve done that twice this week, gives me a start every time.”

Harry grinned, knowing Neville’s clumsiness was something that would never truly leave the man altogether, and set to work trying to catch the rogue toadstool. He could have sworn it drooped as though disappointed once he caught it, returning it to the bucket – the rest of the strange things jumped in surprise and Harry felt a wave of relief as none escaped a second time.

“It looks brilliant in here, Neville,” Harry said, rubbing the top of his head as a hanging flitterbloom plant brushed one of its tentacles against his hair as though greeting him. “I don’t know how you keep on top of it all.”

“Oh, it’s easy enough,” Neville said, though something in his tone didn’t quite convince Harry. “A lot of work, but it’s worth it, I think.”

“Definitely,” Harry agreed.

He noted the pride in Neville’s features as he showed Harry around, pointing out different plants, occasionally remembering mishaps they’d had a school with certain species. Harry all but fell into a fit of laughter as he remembered an incident between Ron and some puffapods, and Neville admitted he’d had to deal with more than a few similar incidents of it now he was teaching.

After a time, Neville finally wore out his excitement and the pair emerged from the greenhouses - a little warm, with a few scrapes from some more intimidating plants, but otherwise feeling pleasant. Harry hoped that when his own teaching began he could be half as proud and enthusiastic as Neville. It rolled off the man in waves until the point Harry could see the happiness in his stride.

Not ready to head back and with the sun beginning to grow stronger, the pair continued their walk, conversation drifting onto Harry’s own life. Neville was a little embarrassed that he hadn’t given Harry so much as a second to discuss his own ventures, but Harry truly didn’t mind and told him as much.

It had been difficult, though, trying to get Neville up to date with all that had transpired – for some details it had been, anyway.

Neville instantly connected with what Harry had gone through when he spoke about not feeling as though he was making a difference at the Ministry, noting that they were more similar in that regard than they thought. When asking what had finally made him reconsider, however, Harry had suddenly become tongue-tied.

Neville’s face swept through what felt like a thousand different emotions as Harry tried to explain what had happened with the Malfoys. Shock had been riddled across the man’s features as Harry admitted that he and Draco were on good terms. Then, with heat rushing to his face, he corrected himself and confessed they were on _more_ than good terms.

“Well,” Neville said, slowly. “I have to admit, you’re the last two people I’d have ever put together…I didn’t see that coming.”

“You and me both,” Harry chuckled, somewhat nervously.

“I never would have put Draco down for a healer, either,” Neville muttered to himself, and then he shrugged, his face falling into quiet acknowledgement, as though he’d heard of crazier things in his life. Harry could admit that a small weight lifted off his shoulders at that. “So, are you living nearby? I could have sworn McGonagall mentioned you’d be on grounds.”

“For the time I will be,” Harry said, nerves dissipating as the conversation moved on. “I’ve been having a bit of trouble finding somewhere close, so it’s just temporary.”

“You’ll find something,” Neville assured. “And I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

The pair hardly realised how far they’d walked until the treeline of the forest was in sight, and a booming voice came rolling across the grounds towards them.

“’arry!”

Harry looked over to where he knew Hagrid’s hut to be, and the giant of a man came storming over, already looking somewhat tearful. Harry’s greeting was smothered by a mass of wiry black hair and hulking arms, and he heard Neville laughing behind him. Harry couldn’t help but feel relieved when his feet finally touched the floor again, though. Hagrid still didn’t know his own strength sometimes, as gentle as he was.

“It’s good to see you, Hagrid,” Harry chuckled.

His only response was Hagrid pulling out a spotted handkerchief, dabbing at eyes that twinkled down at him with fierce love.

~-*-~

Harry couldn’t believe how quickly the day had flown by.

It was pitch black outside and the only thing illuminating Harry’s chambers was a faint, blue glow from the tip of his wand as he went over the notes now covering his entire bed - again and again. There was nothing truly cohesive about them. If anything, they were nothing more than scattered recollections of his third year at Hogwarts studying DADA.

The moment he’d written his letter to McGonagall, memories of Remus and his way of teaching had flooded him in both fond and bittersweet waves. There had been no doubt in Harry’s mind that he’d be emulating some of those lessons, both in honour of the man and because Lupin had been the best professor they could have hoped for on the subject. Harry could only pray he would do the man some justice.

Even deeper down, he knew he would, he would make sure of it.

Eventually, exhaustion made its presence known and Harry began to yawn into his hand. He banished the notes away and settled back into his unfamiliar bed. Hectic thoughts still drifted in and out across the front of his mind, keeping sleep a fraction at bay, but he knew it wouldn’t keep it away for much longer. Though the day had kept him distracted, the silence was beginning to bring in that familiar sense of wanting, and something fluttered in Harry’s stomach.

If Draco had been beside him at that moment, Harry would have been hard put to think of a time he’d been happier with his life.

Still, that moment was yet to come, and Harry spent almost an hour tossing and turning before a soothing blur of darkness began to trickle into the edge of his vision. He made a strange, sleepy internal note that he would start keeping chocolate in his desk, that he would rearrange the tables into groups so students could form their own circles, that he would keep a keen eye out for bickering students butting heads, students that were never given a chance to grow close.

His final, dream-like thought was of silver eyes, a thin nose bumping against his own as he drifted off to sleep.


	27. Unexpected Visits

Narcissa wordlessly slipped another cup of coffee in front of Draco.

Her son hardly reacted aside from a small, distracted murmur that might have been some sign of thanks. Narcissa couldn’t be sure, because his head was looming over a book, papers stacked up on all sides behind him, worrying a quill between his lips. For the hundredth time that morning, she debated telling Draco to spend the day relaxing for once, but she knew it would fall on deaf ears. At worst, it might send her son to breaking point, and frankly she’d rather not deal with that mess if she could help it.

The stress had mounted to a boiling point over that week. Though Draco had been counting down the days until he started his position, it didn’t stop time creeping by without him truly noticing it. When he had told Harry that he’d hoped the man would be around as a distraction, he hadn’t been joking. He’d been more than anticipating Harry would be there to help Draco weather the change.

But, strangely, for as hard as it was, Draco was proud of himself for taking it all in his stride, even if he was beginning to feel the strain.

He couldn’t so much as have a full night’s sleep anymore. He woke up at odd hours, a flash of panic washing over him as he remembered topics and spells and procedures he wasn’t entirely certain about. Sleep would not greet him unless he stormed out of bed, opened a book, made notes, and felt at peace with the knowledge that should that _particular_ situation ever arise – he would be more than capable to manage it.

The only glimpse of peace he ever seemed to find was when Harry would write him a letter. They were short and sweet, and Draco wished for far more – but he knew the effort was there all the same and, really, he couldn’t ask for much more. It was a welcome break from his preparation to start work and a solid reminder that things were changing for the better. When the dust finally settled, Draco knew it would feel worth the wait.

Narcissa hovered over Draco for a moment more, still debating whether she should intervene, and settled with sitting down opposite her son at the table. She watched as his eyes narrowed over a passage, and he copied some brief note onto a spare piece of parchment. After a second, he nodded to himself and ticked something off.

As she watched Draco concentrate, she felt warmth bloom in her chest, full of pride for him. If she hadn’t been proud to call Draco her son before, it was times like this where her love for him shone ever brighter. Usually, she would let that feeling rest in her, silently, hoping that Draco knew without a shadow of a doubt, just from a subtle glance or brief remark. But suddenly she was overcome with the need to say so.

Carefully, Narcissa spoke. “Draco?”

Draco mumbled a response again, finishing up another few lines of research. When silence fell and Narcissa didn’t reply, Draco finally pulled his tired eyes away from the book, settling a hand over it to stop it from closing.

“Anything the matter?” Draco asked.

Narcissa smiled and shook her head. “I’m just very proud of you, Draco. You know that, don’t you?” She asked.

Draco mirrored her expression, nodding gently. “Of course I do.”

A sense of calm washed over Narcissa at that. She hesitated for a second, then reached out to hold Draco’s hand, squeezing reassuringly.

“I do think you need to take a minute to breathe, however,” Narcissa added.

Draco let out a tired laugh, rubbing at his sore eyes, working a few kinks out of his back for good measure. “Yes, I suppose I do. Just…nervous.”

“You’ve nothing to be nervous about,” Narcissa assured. “I’ve no doubt after your first day, you’ll wonder why you were ever anxious at all.”

Narcissa knew it would do nothing to calm her son, but he seemed to relax at her words regardless. Finally giving in, Draco moved his hand away from Narcissa’s gentle hold and closed the book, pushing it to one side, grabbing for his drink instead. She did her best to distract him, noticing the quick glances he kept giving the notes, but soon enough he was relaxing back in his seat and appeared not to notice he was surrounded in a sea of research at all.

A bell chimed, followed by a few hesitant knocks, and Narcissa’s brow furrowed.

“I wasn’t expecting company today,” She muttered. “Were you?”

Draco shook his head and Narcissa hummed to herself as she got up - utterly puzzled. Draco ran a hand through his hair and yawned as he listened to her footsteps trail away down the hallway, looking to his side to admire the scenery of the Manor. He wondered, idly, what the view might be from his own kitchen window in the near future. Not nearly as pristine and well-managed as the Manor’s grounds, he hoped. Something wilder.

Draco heard subdued voices at the front door, and his brow furrowed. It didn’t sound like Hermione. Whoever it was sounded quite flustered, rattling off word after word as though worried they wouldn’t explain something in time. Then another voice crept up alongside it – a man – sounding just as unsure as the woman. Draco was about to stand up and see who it was when he heard the front door shut and a set of footsteps wandering down towards the kitchen.

The last people he expected to see walk inside – were Molly and Arthur.

Draco straightened in his seat and looked at them, confusion clearly washing over his face because Molly smiled, almost apologetically, as though that alone would explain. Arthur gave his own subdued smile, raising a hand in greeting.

“I wasn’t expecting a visit,” Draco said, dumbly, but soon his brain kicked into gear and he placed his cup down on the table, getting up to greet them both.

Molly broke into a more genuine smile and chuckled as she pulled Draco into a hug. Arthur, seemingly a little more put off by Narcissa’s lingering presence in the room, settled for a handshake this time, though Draco didn’t mind.

“We won’t be long, dear,” Molly explained. “I just…well, me and Arthur…we know you’re starting your new job tomorrow. I was going to send an owl but we thought it better just to drop by. I hope we aren’t intruding.” Molly turned to Narcissa, her face a little guarded, though Narcissa seemed entirely unperturbed.

“Not at all,” Narcissa said, voice a little stiff but otherwise quite pleasant. “Would you like a drink while you’re here?”

Molly looked positively bowled over, and Draco had to bite his cheek from smirking. She turned to her husband, as though they were telepathically debating something, and then she shook her head. “Thank you, but…it really is a flying visit. We just wanted to wish Draco the best of luck.”

“Not that you’ll need it,” Arthur assured.

“I appreciate it,” Draco smiled. “I really do.”

“Nervous?” Molly asked, face growing sympathetic.

“Very,” Draco admitted, with a small laugh.

“You’d be mad if you weren’t,” Arthur chuckled. “Still, you’ll be fine. Remember how Ron was when he started at the Ministry, Molly?”

“ _Goodness_ ,” Molly sighed. “You’d never seen anyone look so green in your life, had you?”

“And to talk to him now, you’d think he waltzed in there without a care in the world,” Arthur added. “Bloody hell, I all but had to march him in there, he still won’t admit to it.”

Draco couldn’t help but grin to himself, writing a mental note to bring it up to Ron later. Once he’d conquered his own first day, that is.

“Have you heard much from Harry?” Molly asked.

Draco nodded. “A few letters. I think McGonagall has been keeping him on his toes. He’s fine, though. I don’t think he’s been so happy in a long time.”

Both Molly and Arthur’s faces softened, smiling joyfully.

“I’m so glad,” Molly said, then seemed to shake herself as though she’d forgotten something. “Well, we won’t interrupt you any longer. Do let us know how you get on tomorrow?”

“I will,” Draco assured.

“You’ll be fine,” Arthur said again with a small wink, and Draco suddenly realised where George’s little quirk had come from.

The Weasley’s turned to Narcissa, and for a second it was as though they didn’t know what to say. It surprised Draco when his mother spoke first, addressing them with a tone that was close to affectionate, and entirely sincere, though no doubt Molly and Arthur couldn’t quite spot it – she could be terribly hard to read.

“It was very kind of you to drop by,” Narcissa said, leading them out of the kitchen. “Not many would think to do so.”

Molly shot Draco a final goodbye as they headed out of the room, and the blond spotted Arthur shooting him another small wave just beyond the doorway. Draco listened intently as the group wandered back to the door, and was surprised when he heard Molly speaking, sounding far more sure of herself than she had minutes ago.

 _“It was really no problem…and you’re more than welcome to drop by at the Burrow with Draco sometime, you know? We’re more than happy to have you…we’ve always got space, haven’t we, Arthur?”_ Molly rushed out, confident - but still an edge unsure, as though she was discussing letting a dragon into the house.

 _“Even if we don’t, we can make some,”_ Arthur said with a small laugh. He didn’t sound quite so sure as his wife.

_“It won’t…quite be what you’re used to, I’m sure, but…well, the offer stands.”_

There was a pause from the hallway, and Draco tensed for a moment.

 _“Not to worry. I’m sure the change of scenery would be pleasant,”_ Again, Narcissa didn’t seem quite convinced – but it was _something_.

Nervous laughter filled the hallway, but Draco was glad of it. He knew that’s how it all started. Awkward little steps, no doubt some arguments along the way, and some very powerful gestures. There was no doubt in his mind that he would be dragging his mother, whether it be by nail and tooth, to the Burrow the next chance he got.

A single set of footsteps wandered back towards the kitchen, and Draco couldn’t wipe the smug look from his face as his mother returned, who spotted the look in an instant. She raised an eyebrow at him, half-way towards a warning, but he ignored it.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Draco said, slow and deliberate.

Narcissa scoffed and nearly rolled her eyes. “Very clever,” She drawled.

“Well, I’m right, aren’t I?”

“I doubt their invitation was entirely sincere, Draco,” Narcissa mumbled. “Though they do seem more agreeable than I last remember.”

Draco knew there was more to it, but didn’t press, only smirked knowingly from the rim of his teacup.

If Narcissa were ever to divulge what she felt in that small expanse of time, it was that she had been touched. She understood in blinding clarity how things had changed for the Malfoys. If a family they had all but spat venom at for years could push aside their differences for _her_ son, Narcissa could do more than just accept it - she could respect and appreciate it.

She wouldn’t quite give Draco the satisfaction of her saying so, however.

~-*-~

Sleep arrived late, but Draco was thankful for it regardless.

What he wasn’t thankful for – at least initially – was being roused from his rest in the early hours, especially when he had such an important day ahead. Draco seemed to wake slowly for a moment before he shot up in bed, gears turning, whirling his head to the side to try and figure out what had actually _moved_ on the bed.

He did not expect to see green eyes peering back at him, a sheepish smile plastered on Harry’s face.

“I did try to be quiet,” Harry said, raising his hands defensively.

Draco said nothing for a moment, sleep still tugging at his brain, and then he dissolved into drowsy giggles. “I don’t know whether I want to murder you or kiss the life out of you.”

“I’d prefer the latter, if I’m honest.”

“What in the world are you even doing here?” Draco asked, rubbing his eyes before settling back down in bed, tugging at Harry’s shirt weakly but insistently.

Harry moved closer, no longer looking worried that Draco might actually punch him for waking him up. He draped an arm over the other, his fingers working in small, soothing patterns as though apologising for startling the man. Draco shifted his arms, tucked up against Harry’s chest, opting to brush his fingers against Harry’s neck as though to assure himself he was honestly there. All Draco’s worries about the following day seemed to dip in an instant, and he let out a comfortable sigh.

“I wanted to at least see you before you started tomorrow,” Harry explained, voice quiet.

Draco’s lips quirked into a smile. “Are you sure you won’t get into trouble with the _Headmistress_?” He teased, and Harry laughed.

“She won’t even notice I’ve been gone.”

“You’d be so lucky,” Draco said, inching ever nearer as though, subconsciously, he could never be close enough.

Harry only responded by shifting his hand to Draco’s lower back, shuffling so Draco could rest his head on the other’s chest. Another gentle sigh escaped Draco’s mouth as Harry’s free hand wound itself in silver hair, a shiver running down the other’s back for a moment. Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at the reaction, pressing a kiss against the top of Draco’s head.

“I’ve missed this,” Harry admitted, and Draco hummed in response. “Are you sure you don’t want to work at the hospital wing instead?”

“I was lucky enough to land _this_ ,” Draco yawned. “I could do without all the paperwork again…I think I pulled a muscle in my hand from sending off all those forms.”

“I see your dramatics haven’t faded away while I’ve been gone,” Harry said, though the tone was fond - and he could feel Draco grinning against his chest in response.

“You’d get bored if they did.”

Silence wandered into the bedroom and for a moment, Harry thought Draco had drifted back to sleep. His breathing was deep and slow and relaxed, his fingers moving in small, mindless rhythms against Harry’s chest. Then, Draco moved, holding himself up by his arms and nudging his nose against the others. The ghost of a smirk flashed across his face as Harry’s hands settled on his lower back, smoothing under his sleeping shirt and warming the skin there.

“We better find somewhere soon, or I might go mad,” Draco said, voice so thick with sleep that Harry realised maybe Draco _had_ nodded off for a moment.

“It won’t be for much longer,” Harry assured, leaning up to kiss Draco, pulling away too soon for the other’s liking – because he near enough pouted. “Might even have to be prepared to ask for a few afternoons off, before long.”

Excitement flashed across Draco’s eyes, and he suddenly seemed very, very awake. “Don’t you _dare_ just leave it at that. What do you mean?” Draco demanded.

Harry chuckled and Draco all but stared daggers into the man below him.

“I’m just saying, be prepared,” Harry replied, slyly.

“If you don’t tell me right _now_ -“

“Why? What will you do?” Harry challenged, face smug, something not a shade sly of devious crossing his face.

Draco laughed, feeling his face heat up. “I’ll do a _lot_ more to you if you stop teasing.”

Harry’s brain seemed to stop working for a moment, and Draco had to bite his cheek unless he laughed any louder. It still amazed him how flustered Harry could get at times, because for all his confidence and shameless flirting – the second Draco returned the favour, it was as though all sense trickled out of Harry’s brain.

Draco pressed a slow, sweet kiss against Harry’s jaw, muttering in a low voice. “Will I be getting an answer out of you, or shall I go back to sleep?”

“And you call _me_ a tease,” Harry stammered, shivering as Draco peppered kisses against his jaw, he shifted and moved his hand’s up to cup Draco’s face – if only to give himself a moment to breathe, though it didn’t stop his thumb from tracing Draco’s jawline lovingly. The other man grinned back at him cunningly. “Times like this I understand why you were a Slytherin, you know?” Harry added.

“Stop getting distracted,” Draco demanded, and Harry let out a huff of laughter.

“It’s nothing certain, so don’t be getting too wound up-“

“Too late for that,” Draco quipped, and Harry summoned all of his strength to let it slide – just for the moment.

“Neville mentioned there’s a place going just outside of Hogsmede, but it needs a lot of work. I’m just trying to get a viewing so nothing's confirmed, but-“

Harry’s words were cut off as Draco wriggled out of his grasp and surged forward, kissing the other man with blinding intensity. Harry wrapped his arms around Draco and pulled him ever closer, breath nearly catching in his throat as Draco pulled away to nip at his neck, muttering: “I swear if we don’t get a viewing I’ll go over there myself and _hex_ the living daylights out of them.”

“Someone’s impatient,” Harry teased, easing Draco onto his side before laying him back, glasses slipping down his face before Draco snatched them off and put them to one side. It didn’t take a second more before Draco’s eager hands were linked behind Harry’s head, urging him forward, as though he hadn’t seen him, let alone kissed him, in years.

“You should be trying to sleep,” Harry scolded, but the tone was ruined by the pleased grin plastered over his face.

Draco rolled his eyes, fingers running through the other's wild hair, tugging firmly until something flashed across Harry's face - he couldn’t help but smirk at the response. “I don’t think I could sleep now, anyway.”

Harry tried to feel guilty, and did so – if only for a moment.

Another kiss saw to it that he didn’t feel guilty at all.


	28. Fern Cottage

Draco had come to realise that, as usual, his mother had been right.

There really hadn’t been much to worry about at all, not really. The first few days at St. Mungo’s passed by in a blur of new faces, strict tutors, and even tighter regulations – but Draco had been happy to note that only a few eyes lingered at the mention of his name, and even fewer chose to cause a fuss over it. It was nothing he couldn’t handle, something he was endlessly proud to realise, and something Harry had been quick to pick up on and fuss over in his many letters after he returned to Hogwarts.

That didn’t detract from how utterly exhausted Draco had been in those first few shifts. He’d been running on a kind of nervous energy that he’d been waiting to hit home, and once the training group was settled, rotas planned, routine beginning to set it – Draco had returned home most evenings and promptly retired to bed, sleeping seemingly infinite hours.

And yet it had been a relieved kind of exhaustion, something Draco couldn’t quite put a finger on, but it was as though his mind was so at rest that sleeping a full night felt like heaven, feeling _genuinely_ exhausted was somehow rewarding, and every day grew better and more fulfilling than the last – even if Draco’s bedside manner still got him into a spot of bother.

In his defence, Draco had simply stated he’d rather be stern with patients and get the job done, rather than waste precious time coddling them. So far, it was making more of a good impression than bad, especially with some of the more time-sensitive cases they saw wandering on the ground floor.

Draco had been surprised at just how many witches and wizards found themselves with spells backfiring or arms and legs bent in odd directions from a broom ride gone south. He wasn’t getting marks for his sympathy work, but he was certainly making waves with how quick a turnaround he strived towards – threats about putting him on the Janus Thickey Ward to learn a little patience be damned.

There had been only small thing playing on Draco’s mind.

Word about the house that Neville had found out about seemed to have fizzled away. Draco hadn’t wanted to pester and push Harry, especially when the start of term was looming ever closer and McGonagall was seemingly determined to keep Harry on his toes at all hours, but he couldn’t help but feel a flash of panic when he remembered about it some nights, as though a chance was slipping out of their grasp. It was a small, unsettled little feeling within him, one that could be easily pushed to one side so sleep could take over, but one that kept resurfacing all the same.

As with many a thing in Draco’s life, it turned out that he didn’t have to worry too much about it at all, not if Harry had anything to do with it.

~-*-~

Harry’s occasional presence at the Manor wasn’t entirely uncommon, but it was still a happy surprise to Draco every time he returned home from a long shift to find a mop of black hair and that blinding smile beaming up at him from the kitchen table, looking so comfortable and relaxed in Narcissa’s presence that it shot a second wave of warmth through Draco’s body.

“Hello, stranger,” Draco said with a smirk, dropping his work bag onto the floor at the doorway of the kitchen. Harry didn’t hesitate before standing up from his chair and pulling the other man into a tight embrace. Draco saw Narcissa smile fondly from the corner of his eye before she squeezed by them to give them some peace.

“I’ll let you tell him the good news,” Narcissa slyly said to Harry, before disappearing out of sight. Draco pulled away a fraction to watch her leave, his eyes immediately returning to Harry, who shot him a sheepish smile.

“Keeping secrets, Potter?”

“Never from you,” Harry chuckled, giving the other man a quick kiss before ushering him over to the table, where a few pieces of paper were scattered. Draco didn’t get time to see what they were, Harry scooped them up almost instantly, his face looking not the slightest bit innocent. “I was _planning_ on telling you first, but your mum was as persuasive as always.”

Draco sat down next to the other man, noticing how Harry’s fingers kept tapping an excited rhythm on the wood, something in his face deliriously giddy. The feeling was contagious, and though Draco had been exhausted from work, he felt entirely awake now.

“So,” Harry began, swivelling to face Draco and settling his hand on the other man’s thigh, and Draco settled his own hand on top of it, thumb rubbing idle patterns into the skin there. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad would work be if you asked for a day off, say, next Friday?”

Draco let out a small laugh. “I’m betting an eight. Probably won’t be best pleased, but you forget the gift of _persuasion_ runs strong in this family.”

“As long as you’re not flirting with your superiors, I’ll take that and run with it,” Harry grinned, wincing as Draco’s foot met his ankle.

“And here was poor me thinking _I_ was the insecure one. Go on then, what’re you hiding?”

“Oh, not much…” Harry said, voice trailing off as he reached back for the papers stacked on the table. He took a moment to flick through them, taking his time, smirking as Draco rolled his eyes and huffed. “It’s not all that interesting, _really_.”

“You’ve two options, Harry, you either pass me those papers or this kitchen is getting turned upside down.”

“So impatient,” Harry scolded, moving his arm away as Draco snatched for the papers in his hand. “What do I get in return if I let you have a look?” He asked, cheekily.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, rubbing a hand over his eyes in exasperation. “Put it this way, it’ll save you a trip to St. Mungo’s if you hand them over.”

Harry bit back a flustered question of whether Draco would be tending to him if he refused, and gave in. A warm smile settled on his face as the paper’s swapped hands, and he watched as Draco’s eyes lit up at what was on the page. Harry, feeling both frightfully nervous and delighted in equal measures, couldn’t help but jitter his leg up and down, waiting eagerly for a response.

Draco looked through the notes slowly, as though he wanted to take in every small detail he could, savouring the sheer idea of what was fast becoming a reality. The pages were advertisements for homes of all different shapes and sizes, all of them within a good distance of Hogwarts itself, but each so very different. There was one that looked like a downsized version of the Manor, a sprawling, brightly coloured bungalow, an unassuming terraced house that looked to be in some small village, a handful of modest but modern detached homes – and a cottage.

Draco couldn’t get his thoughts together quick enough. The realisation was something that settled so easily within him but bowled him over at the same time. His lips quirked into a soft, content smile, and he looked up at Harry, who seemed to be nearly bursting from excitement.

“We’re going to live together,” Draco stated, as though he couldn’t quite believe it.

Harry didn’t even think to tease the other man with how shocked he seemed at such a simple idea. Instead, all Harry could do was mimic the other’s smile, hand coming to rest on the other’s thigh again as though grounding him.

“Yeah, we are,” Harry replied.

“How’d you find so many to look at?”

“Honestly, you need to thank Neville for that one. I’m sure he’s an estate agent part-time, the only time he ever comes out of those greenhouses is to tell me about another place that's come up,” Harry chuckled.

“Are you sure we’ve got time to get around them all?” Draco asked.

Harry shrugged. “Well, there’s a couple of viewings on Friday, then some on the weekend. You never know, one might just… _stand out_ , and we won’t have to worry about the rest.”

“So, there’s a place you’ve got an eye on, then?” Draco smirked, and Harry had the audacity to pretend to be shocked.

“What makes you say that?”

“I’ve said it before, and I will probably say it a thousand more times in the years to come – you are _not_ subtle, Harry.”

Something extraordinarily affectionate welled up inside Harry at the words _years to come_. “Well, one _has_ taken my fancy, but it’s not completely up to me, is it?”

“Humour me,” Draco asked, and Harry leaned over to finger through the paper’s in Draco’s hand, tugging one in particular away from the rest. Draco shuffled it to the front of the stack and grinned.

Fern Cottage.

“For once, Harry, you have excellent taste," Draco said, hand moving to the front of Harry's shirt to pull him into a well-deserved kiss.

~-*-~

Harry squeezed Draco’s hand, and when the blonde looked up, Harry was looking at him with such warmth and love that it made him forget why he’d been tense at all.

They’d been up at the crack of dawn, ready to meet the estate agent, and it felt like they’d already viewed a hundred properties. None of them so far had felt quite right. It was beginning to feel like an impossible task to balance out their own tastes, to try and see through the empty contents of the homes and imagine _living_ there. With every walk round, Draco was trying to imagine where their belongings would be, what portraits would be hung up, how they would decorate – doing anything to try and picture what life would be like.

But every house so far had been too much like the Manor, utterly characterless, or simply too small for visitors - something Harry’d had to remind Draco would be a _thing_. The pair had the awful feeling even the estate agent was getting annoyed at how nit-picky they were now, not quite understanding what the fuss was with some of the properties, and Draco’s patience especially was wearing thin, even if all Harry could do was laugh at Draco’s snarky responses.

Then they’d arrived at the cottage, and everything seemed to slot into place.

It seemed to be in the middle of nowhere at all, even if the estate agent reminded them there was a village not far away and that they could even walk there if the weather was nice. There were no fences announcing where their land ended and began, and from the road – it appeared there wasn’t a house there at all. Trees bordered the property on all sides, and it took a moment for the cottage to even come into sight.

A mismatched and decidedly winding cobblestone path led to the front door. Though the cottage itself was whitewashed with dark wooden beams, the appearance of the sun almost yellowed it in warm, soothing tones. It had a dark thatched roof, and though something about it was almost lopsided, it didn’t discredit the property – if anything, it gave some life to it. The pair could make out two chimneys and ivy crept up the left side of the house, smothering it in greenery. All around the house itself, wildflowers had bloomed in messy, bright clusters, as though nature was trying to recover lost ground.

Draco and Harry knew they didn’t even have to go inside to know it was the one, but stepped inside regardless. The estate agent seemed to sense something between the pair, because he fell silent, telling them to look around at their own leisure, hovering in the doorway – already knowing what answer he would get this time.

It was far more spacious than they could have imagined from the outside. The kitchen seemed endless, and the dining room attached to it had a large panelled window, letting in all the afternoon sun and bathing the house in warmth. A fireplace took front and centre in the living room, looking decidedly neglected, a few bricks missing here and there, but otherwise still charming.

They walked up a decidedly steep staircase, and upstairs the roof sloped down to one side. At first, Draco thought it may feel smothering, but if anything – there was a comfort to how low down the ceiling was on the upper floor. Harry noted there were more than enough bedrooms to have guests. And, as they investigated further, they noticed yet another small staircase leading to a tiny room that seemed to be the reason why the cottage looked so uneven from the outside. Draco was quick to announce it would make a nice reading nook – and Harry couldn’t find it in himself to argue.

The windows were low, and the view from all sides of the house was nothing shy of idyllic. The hills seemed to roll away from them ceaselessly, woodland and wildflowers dotting the landscapes in bursts of colour, and Draco pointed out that in the distance, there seemed to be a river running through the landscape. Harry soon pointed out there was more than enough open space to have a few quidditch games now and again, a competitive little smirk crossing his features, which Draco was quick to fire back.

The more time they spent looking around, the more they couldn’t imagine not living there, and Draco felt that tension rising again as they returned to the estate agent, who looked nothing shy of smug. Harry wrapped an arm Draco as they discussed details, and Draco did his best to bite back his sharp comments for both their sakes.

“I can’t make any promises with this one. Stuff like this goes,” The man snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Well, we’re serious about it,” Harry said, casting a look to Draco who nodded. “So we’ll be making an offer.”

“I’ll be sure to keep you updated if anyone else counters it,” The estate agent replied, and Draco had the awful feeling the man was doing all he could not to rub his hands together gleefully. Harry seemed to feel the same because even _his_ feature’s hardened slightly. “No doubt it’ll be a competitive buy,” The agent finished with a laugh.

“Good, I like a challenge,” Draco said, voice lacking any emotion at all, but Harry knew the words weren’t even remotely a joke. He’d probably offer to duel any competitors there and then and, secretly, Harry was so fond of the place he might have done the same.

The pair left the place almost reluctantly, and Draco honestly wished he could walk around a second time, just imprint the place into his memories. Harry’s hand squeezed Draco’s as they came to the road, the cottage now almost entirely hidden away by the woodland, but both couldn’t help but look back – just to try and catch another glimpse of it.

“This better not be the last time we come back here,” Draco mumbled, almost to himself, and Harry let out a small laugh.

“I know what you mean,” Harry smiled. “It’s a shame we won’t be able to see the other people viewing before they can put down a price.”

“Why’s that?”

“One look from you and they wouldn’t dare make an offer.”

“Too right,” Draco said, proudly, and Harry couldn’t help but laugh again, pressing a kiss against the other’s temple, thinking for the hundredth time how lucky he really was.

When Draco looked back to him, eyes fond and content, Harry knew for certain he wasn't alone in that feeling at all.


	29. Celebrations

The air was sweet and fragrant.

Birds twittered in the woodland surrounding the Burrow, crickets humming their own unusual songs in the grass, and the sound of laughter and comfortable chatter seemed to carry across the land for an age. The family was seated in clusters of mismatched chairs, and now and again it was as though they were all playing a game – shuffling their seats over to form new groups, disbanding, re-joining – not a single person left unspoken to, not even _Percy_ with his usual stuffy mood, not even Narcissa who still looked so strangely out of place, and yet so comfortable in the same instance.

Harry’s arm was draped over Draco’s shoulders, a drink settled in his other hand, only half-listening as Ginny and Draco discussed how work had been going at St. Mungo’s, and how the Hollyhead Harpies were all but demolishing their opposition in the League – even if their next few matches were going to be rough. Draco’s eyes would often turn somewhat jealous as Ginny spoke of her work, but it was soon soothed over when he remembered just what _he_ was achieving, and just how much he'd grown to adore the job already.

“You reckon you’ll be staying there for a while, then?” Ginny asked, downing her drink and quickly looking around for a jug to refill it.

“Probably,” Draco said. “There’s a ridiculous amount to learn…especially if I want to move to another ward, which I plan on.”

“Well,” Ginny said, squinting slightly as she poured another drink. “If you stay there long enough, you might even learn how to fix Percy’s sense of humour.” She grinned.

Somewhere behind them, a disgruntled Percy whirled around and spoke up, a small tiff beginning to brew, though both Draco and Harry could very clearly see a small glint in Percy’s eyes, as though an argument with his sister was nothing more than a fun little game they were too used to playing. Soon enough, the pair gave up, and talk resumed to Draco’s work.

Harry’s affectionate gaze across Draco’s features, as the blonde spoke animatedly to Ginny, did not go unnoticed. It was though he was afraid of looking away in such relaxed moments, like he may never get to see Draco so happy again. If Harry was honest with himself, it was taking all his willpower not to smother the other man in affection, pushing stray pieces of hair out of Draco’s eyes, running nonsensical patterns into the material of Draco’s burgundy jumper, inwardly urging his partner to look his way just for a single glimpse into his eyes – soft and shining and utterly, unapologetically content.

Arthur, Molly and Narcissa sat together a few feet away from them, finally at ease now everyone had been fed, and more than certain that Fleur would be around to fill in if they hadn’t – the maternal side of the woman had been in full force that afternoon, giving Molly a well-deserved break. As Molly watched the boys, her own features turned comically sentimental, something strong rising in her emotions. Narcissa pulled her gaze away from where four of the Weasley boys – Bill, Charlie, Ron and George – were in a heated discussion about something or other, though there was a grin plastered to each of their faces. She followed Molly’s line of sight, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, and she let out a small laugh into her glass.

“Quite the pair, aren’t they?” Narcissa drawled. "I never would have imagined it'd work out, but they do make quite the handsome couple..." Narcissa's voice trailed away and her face suddenly turned a shade panicked as she heard Molly sniff beside her.

“They just look so happy,” Molly sighed, voice wobbling, digging around in her pockets for a handkerchief.

She needn’t look for too long, as Narcissa was passing her one over quickly, as though scared the woman may actually burst into sobs - Narcissa was still getting used to being around people who showed their emotions so shamelessly. Arthur’s hand soon came out and rested on Molly’s knee, soothing her, and she half-heartedly batted him away, embarrassed - but the hand never moved. Arthur shot something close to a grin over to Narcissa, who hid a smile into her glass yet again.

Harry, Draco and Ginny’s conversation was briefly interrupted as Hermione came to sit with them, blowing a stray piece of hair out of her eyes, looking flustered but pleased.

“Drink?” Ginny offered, leaning behind her where a large table was littered with jugs of all sorts of concoctions, alcoholic and otherwise. Hermione’s eyes seemed to hover over a honeypot looking jar filled to the brim with something close to butterbeer, before she shook her head, almost to herself.

“I'll just have a lemonade,” Hermione said, and Ginny shot her a look before shrugging.

Drink in hand, Hermione scooted forward and looked to Draco and Harry. “So, you made the big announcement, yet?” She asked with a grin.

Harry let out a huff of laughter. “What, that big announcement pretty much _everyone_ knows about?”

“That a certain someone has been simply _dying_ to tell _everyone_?” Draco added, cocking his eyebrow up at Hermione and smiling.

“Well, _I_ certainly want to know,” Ginny said, somewhat offended that she hadn’t already found out. Her gaze rounded on Hermione. “You tell me absolutely nothing these days.” She accused, though the pair quickly burst into giggles.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Draco said, dryly, though the smirk on his face said otherwise. He let his gaze drift into the distance, stretching languidly. “It’s not all that interesting-” His words were cut off sharply as Ginny cocked a leg up as though to stamp on his foot and he flinched. “You’re positively vicious sometimes, you know?” Draco sniggered.

Ginny retracted her leg again, bending forward and resting her arms on her knees. “Go on then, _spill_ , unless you actually _want_ a bruised foot.”

Draco looked to Harry, a question in his eyes, and Harry simply smiled amiably. It was all the confirmation Draco required. He put his drink down to one side, digging into his jeans pocket and pulling out a key attached to a small keychain. He righted it in his hand for a moment, studying the words on the chain as though confirming it to himself again, and handed them over to Ginny who was practically bursting with excitement.

“You got the **_house_**?” She all but shouted, and a few feet away, they heard rather than saw Ron, George, Bill and Charlie cheer, raising the drinks in their hands.

“Well, consider the announcement made thanks to _Ginevra_ ,” Draco sniggered.

“I’ll let that use of my name slide, for now, _Malfoy_ ,” She warned before her feature's softened. “Congrats, you two. Took you long enough.” She said with a warm smile, passing the keys back over to Draco who tucked them into his pocket tightly, not before reading the keychain again. Fern Cottage. _Their_ cottage, no, their _home_.

“You’re telling me,” Harry said. “We were considering just moving in and not telling anyone the way the estate agents were being.”

“Well, it wasn’t exactly _them_ , was it?” Draco said with a sneer. “It was all those _imbeciles_ thinking they could outbid us.”

A snide remark teetered on Ginny’s lips but it was interrupted by the appearance of Molly, Arthur and Narcissa. Harry suddenly disappeared under a bundle of knitwear and a mop of silvery-red hair, and he felt Molly pressing a kiss at the top of his head as though he was still just a young boy.

“Bloody hell, Molly, let the man breathe,” Arthur chuckled, chairs in hand as the group grew again.

“Oh, congratulations you two,” She sniffed, and Draco thought for a moment he might avoid being smothered, Molly’s hand reaching out to squeeze his shoulder - but soon enough he was also being tugged into a hug, almost partway off his seat by the time she was done. Ginny shot Harry a grin, contained giggles causing her eyes to water. She never could get over how flustered Draco got at Molly’s affection. Arthur soon coaxed the woman into a seat, giving Draco and Harry a quick wink.

Narcissa levitated a chair and placed it next to her son with a gentle swish of her wand. Draco looked up to her with a small smile as she moved over and she returned it, her eyes full of pride, grabbing his shoulder and squeezing it tightly. Draco moved his hand up and placed it over hers for a moment, squeezing back. Harry watched, fully expecting Narcissa’s gaze to pass straight over him, but she caught his eye and gave him a small, but firm nod - eyes watering as her smile shone through even stronger.

It spoke volumes more than anyone could have realised.

Soon enough, the evening began to creep in, and the circle grew again, the remainder of the Weasley’s coming to rest and resume their conversations from the comfort of a seat. Harry and Draco were asked question after question about the home, and both Ron and Hermione offered to help with decorating if they needed it. There was idle chatter about Harry’s first year at Hogwarts – term feeling so far away but so close at the same time – and Hermione finally dropped the hint that Kingsley had approached her about being taken under his wing in the next year or so.

Both Draco and Harry listened and laughed, taking in the comfortable chatter and playful arguing, soaking in the company of what had become a true family for the pair of them. Mostly, they simply watched, and wondered how in the world something as natural as this could have ever felt so daunting.

It seemed utterly normal that Draco would get pulled into gossiping, teasing conversation with Hermione and Ginny. It felt entirely unsurprising when Fleur detached herself from Bill and wandered over to sit next to Narcissa, simply to compliment her for the hundredth time on how beautiful her dress was. It didn’t appear strange at all that George could joke with Harry about whisking Draco away himself if Harry wasn’t careful, shooting over a wink that made Draco’s eyes roll every time.

And there _certainly_ didn't ever seem to be a time where Molly and Narcissa couldn't put the past where it belonged, swapping pleased glances because their sons, by blood or not, were settled and happy.

It was something the pair didn’t think they could ever stop appreciating, however natural it may feel to them now, and it was made so much better by the solid and cold press of metal keys in Draco’s pocket, and by the way Harry used lulls in the conversation to whisper decoration plans into Draco’s ear. They no longer felt restless and impatient. They no longer felt that time and chance and luck was slipping from their grasp with every moment of inaction.

Moving in day was but a week away, and for the first time in what felt like a century, they were both happy to wait it out – and bask in the moment.


	30. Settling Down

“It’s never going to come out,” Draco pouted, and Harry bit the inside of his cheek as he used a cloth to try and work at the pastel green streak that had suddenly sprouted in Draco’s hair.

Well, it hadn’t really been a _sudden_ occurrence. If anything, Harry had been waiting for it to happen. Of all the discussions and tiffs they’d had when discussing decorating the cottage, Harry hadn’t quite realised they would have to discuss _how_ they decorated the place, either. Harry’s mind had instantly swung to pots of paint and delicately laying down masking tape that never really made a damn difference when painting straight lines, whereas Draco had cocked his head in confusion until Harry remembered:

Yes, magic was indeed a thing and a rather big part of his life.

Still, there had been something appealing to both of them in doing it the muggle way, being able to feel it in their bones and their aching backs with paint streaked clothes, all confirming that they were making progress. There had to have been an attraction, or Draco would have never agreed. The blonde was starting to look like he wished he _hadn’t_ agreed at that moment if Harry was being fair. They had used a cleaning charm instantly, almost mindlessly, as a blob of green paint had landed in Draco’s hair. But neither of them could seem to shift the stain it had left.

If Harry was baffled, Draco was nearing on mortified.

“I don’t know, it kind of suits you,” Harry chuckled, making a show of moving Draco’s head side to side, a thinly veiled excuse just to run his fingers across the other man’s jaw, a nearly invisible excuse to kiss away the pout that Draco seemed adamant on flaunting. “Very rebellious.”

Draco sniggered, tugging Harry in closer for another kiss, peppering them against him in short, sweet pecks until Harry’s hands slipped down to the small of his back, pulling the other flush against him. Draco would be lying to himself if he didn’t sometimes revel in the way Harry would grumble as he tugged out of his grasp teasingly, his eyes glazed but fond as Draco smirked, turning back to the task in hand – the current task consisting of running his hands through slightly damp hair and tugging it forward, grimacing as he saw a blur of green in front of his eyes.

“At least it’s my house colours,” Draco admitted, and Harry laughed again.

“Wait until we work on the living room,” Harry said. “If you keep up that technique you’ll be like a rainbow.”

“I vote we use magic from here on out,” Draco grumbled, but didn’t entirely mean it. Harry didn’t have to pry to know that fact, either.

Draco ruffled his hair and pushed it back, trying to forget about how ridiculous it must look, and took a step back to admire the kitchen. He’d been right. Green _did_ look good. It was a soft, grey-tone – contrasted by stark white tiles around the countertops, and the kitchen had managed to keep its rustic charm without looking tatty at all, and both of them wanted to keep it that way. They’d already decided that the fireplace in the living room would do just fine if they didn’t replace the missing bricks, as though it might lose some of its character trying to fix it. Their bedroom was mostly finished, a dusty, sleepy sort of blue, all the wooden beams in the walls and the window left intact. It was lacking any real furniture aside from a bed - but they had time.

For a while, they stood in the warm glow of afternoon sunshine that was moving its way across the kitchen windows, the smell of paint filling the air, and Draco’s hand moved out to gently hold his partners own. Harry brought the hand up to his mouth, pressing a chaste kiss against the knuckles, and Draco let out a huff of laughter, not bothering to hide the blush creeping onto his features. He moved closer to tuck himself into Harry’s side, resting his head on the other’s shoulder, relaxed and proud, eyes fluttering shut for a moment as he felt lips press against his forehead.

“I can’t wait to see it all finished,” Draco mumbled, almost sounding sleepy.

“Neither can I,” Harry agreed. “Knowing you we’ll be redecorating every few months, though.”

Draco snickered. “I don’t think I’d have it in me, I’m already exhausted.”

“Better get a coffee then, if you drop off before Hermione gets here, she’ll be livid - she was dying to come over. Even I can’t save you from _that_ wrath.”

Draco’s only response was to go limp against Harry’s side, groaning dramatically as Harry pretended to struggle holding the other up.

“I can’t possibly go on, my hair alone won’t survive another painting accident,” Draco whined.

Harry couldn’t stop his laughter, wouldn’t have even tried to, especially as Draco’s hands came to lace around his neck as though he actually needed the support. Harry’s hands were warm and strong against the other’s waist, holding him steady, nudging his nose against the other’s simply to watch how Draco’s eyes softened – an odd little gesture that they still hadn’t managed to drop.

“We’ll never get this place fixed up the way you’re going,” Harry teased.

Draco let a sly grin cross over his face. “Yes, I am quite distracting, aren’t I?”

Harry rolled his eyes, but it didn’t stop him from coaxing another kiss from the blonde in quick succession. “That’s one word for it.”

“It’s alright, you can admit it-“

Draco’s words were cut off as Harry’s fingers dug into the other’s ribs and Draco let out a surprised shout, trying in vain to wriggle away. Harry took the opportunity to press light, almost ticklish kisses against Draco’s neck, both of them dissolving into peels of laughter, not even noticing as a half-empty paint can went skidding across the kitchen floor.

The pair only sobered as a musical ring of a bell cut through the comfortable silence of the cottage. Draco straightened and looked in the direction of the front door, cheeks flushed, hair askew and lips still pulled into a smile – and Harry felt his stomach flip, gaze still pinned on Draco, as though finally realising he was in love with the man. The reality was that Harry experienced that feeling far too often for there to ever be a first. Reluctantly, he let his grip on Draco loosen, straightening the blonde’s shirt for him.

“I’m sure she does this on purpose,” Draco scoffed. “It’s like she can hear us and just gets _summoned_.”

“Go on,” Harry urged, smiling a little as Draco fixed his hair – or at least attempted to. “I’ll get the kettle on.”

~-*-~

Draco had _promised_ himself he wouldn’t get carried away when Hermione and Ron visited, but all it took was Hermione’s own excited expression to have him fidgeting, desperate to show her around the house and explain what they planned to do with each room, where belongings would go, what furniture Draco was keeping an eye out for, uncaring of how childlike his excitement may seem.

Harry could see Draco’s eagerness from a mile away, jaw nearly twitching with the urge to smile, and took the nearest opportunity to drag Ron outside for a walk, idly dropping the hint that they’d acquired a couple of old broomsticks and stowed them away in a shed out back, a shed that Harry and Draco hadn’t known was _there_ when moving in. Ron had jokingly muttered something about his back at first, but Hermione’s eyebrows had raised knowingly, seeing that old, friendly rivalry beginning to brew.

Soon enough, the four were split off and Hermione followed Draco around the house, drink in hand, his delight becoming almost contagious as they went from room to room.

“If I start to talk too much, please tell me,” Draco said with a small, slightly nervous laugh as he led Hermione up to the small, attic-like room that was so far, just storage for the many books Draco had insisted on bringing with them.

“Don’t be stupid,” Hermione scolded. “You’re excited, of course you’re going to want to talk about it all…oh, this is _lovely_.” A small gasp escaped Hermione’s lips as she took in the attic with wide eyes.

They hadn’t even started decorating it yet, at the most they had a few bookshelves pushed to the walls, half-filled, and the pair could see more than a few dust motes floating from the line of sun that drifted into the room, a high window settled in the centre of the far wall. It still had bare wooden floors, dark knots swirling against the grain, and Draco had admitted he’d didn’t fancy carpeting it because of that. It was homely.

“I think I’ll just put down a rug…oh, but we did find a couple of chairs to put in here,” Draco said, rushing over to them as though needing to prove their existence.

Hermione smirked into her tea, but there was nothing truly teasing or amused about it, there was just a simple charm to witnessing how easy-going Draco had become, especially since the move. She walked over to the chairs and the pair settled down, sinking back into them as though they’d been stood all day. Which, admittedly, Draco really had.

As though bashful, Draco trailed away in the middle of discussing his plans for the upper floors of the cottage, tapping the rim of his mug as though studying. Hermione noticed it, debated telling him off for being so restrained, but decided against it, urging him to talk again.

“I’m surprised you’ve got through so much of the work already, if I’m honest, especially with Harry’s attention span.”

Draco smirked to himself, a private thought crossing his mind, but he pushed it to one side. “He can be a pain, sometimes,” Draco lied.

“Though it does look like you’ve had a bit of a fight with the paint,” Hermione giggled, looking up at Draco’s stained hair.

“Don’t even ask,” He sighed.

“If you need me and Ron to help out, we’d be more than willing. I bet Harry’s dying to get it finished before work starts up properly.”

“I appreciate it,” Draco smiled. “I know you’re both busy, though. I think every time Harry and I have been down to the shop the queue to get in has doubled…never mind your apparent mission to turn the Ministry on its head.”

“Someone needed to do it,” Hermione grinned, cheeks flushing.

“How’s it going with all that, anyway? I’m surprised you haven’t forced him to resign early already.”

Oddly, Hermione paused, her mouth opening and closing for a moment. Draco frowned and watched her as she gazed out of the window, sunlight falling on her face, somehow making it even more prominent as a smile began to drift onto her features. Draco knew then that something had happened, _was_ happening, and maybe that had been why Ron and Hermione had been so adamant they visit that afternoon. Hermione shied away under Draco’s stare, trying and failing to hide a lopsided smirk behind her hand.

“You better tell me what’s going on right now or I'll _explode_ ,” Draco said, leaning forward on his chair. Outside, chatter between Harry and Ron seemed to rise, and Hermione’s grin grew even wider if it were possible.

“It’s nothing really…nothing that’s happening _too_ soon, anyway," She began to explain.

“I don’t care if it’s happening ten years from now, what it is?”

“Well, it’s just that…me and Ron had been thinking…well, for a _while_ really…I’m not going to be heading for Minister just yet, even if Kingsley is going to be getting more involved with me next year…and I wouldn’t even want to rush into it, anyway, it just seemed like a good time to start _settling down,_ so…”

Draco stared, utterly dumbfounded, trying to pick apart the long-winded riddle that Hermione was reeling off – he’d never seen her so flustered relaying news to him before. Slowly, puzzle pieces were beginning to sink in, but none of them were making complete sense to him. Then, the smallest of gestures caught Draco’s eye, and once he noticed it – he couldn’t see anything else.

Hermione’s hand was resting on her stomach.

It was such a natural gesture, and by her expression completely unconscious, but once Draco noticed it, he could observe nothing else. Still, he let her lead the conversation again, the voices outside growing in volume again, as though their conversations were aligned, somehow.

“Settling down?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, as though that alone explained everything. As Draco’s features still didn’t click into realisation, she continued. “Just, before things get too hectic…I suppose we wanted to start our own family.”

Silence passed between them. Nothing tense, or nervous, behind it. If anything, the air around them seemed to be buzzing with mixed excitement, electricity running in the atmosphere. Draco was surprised to find that his emotions seemed to be rising quickly with it, throat becoming dry.

“You’re having a baby, aren’t you?” Draco asked, quietly.

If Hermione’s smile had been bright before, the one she gave then was astonishing in its intensity. Instantly, Draco let his cup clatter noisily against the floor and he stood up, Hermione there to greet him and pull him into a warm, tight hug. He tried to sniffle as discreetly as he could, but Hermione still chuckled a little when she noticed.

“It feels weird telling people now, I've been dying to for _ages_ ,” Hermione admitted, and Draco’s brain seemed to have backfired because all he could say was:

“I’m surprised I haven’t _fainted_.”

And Draco nearly did as thrilled shouts erupted from outside. Hermione and Draco got to the window quick enough to see Harry all but squeezing the life out of Ron, and before long – the pair were toppling over into the grass as though they were kids again themselves. Neither Hermione nor Draco could decide who looked happiest about the news.

They couldn’t help but keep watching, arms resting on the small windowsill, as Ron’s beet-red face finally emerged from Harry’s hold, and they both sat back on the grass, talking animatedly and excitedly between each other, Harry clapping a hand against Ron's shoulder with such force that the other man winced. While watching, Draco felt such a surge of affection for them – for _all_ of them – that it was all he could do not to get teary-eyed again.

“I bet Harry won’t be so excited when I tell him about all the babysitting I’ll be expecting,” Hermione chuckled.

“ _Merlin_ , are you kidding? He’d love it.”

Hermione’s laugh faded to a comfortable smile. “He’d make an excellent Godfather, too, don’t you think?” Draco nodded, and Hermione let a brief pause fall between them before adding: “And you as well, of course.”

Draco’s face dropped into shock, trying to decide if she was serious, or if it was just some odd gesture – that she wanted Draco to know just _how_ much he was trusted, now. But her face remained happy and sincere, and that more than anything hit Draco like a ton of bricks. He hid behind his hands, mumbling: “You really are trying to make me faint, today. I’ve never had so much good news come at once in my _life_.”

Hermione’s hand reached out and settled at the top of Draco’s back soothingly. “It won’t be the last of it, either.”

She wasn’t surprised as Draco pulled her into another hug.

~-*-~

It was late into the night when Harry and Draco finally slipped into bed.

The smell of paint seemed to cling to them, but by then they could hardly even notice. Ron and Hermione had stayed way longer than intended but found they didn’t want to go at all, and both Draco and Harry were so wound up with excitement that they couldn’t even consider turning in for an early night. There was too much to think about. Too much to be thankful for to end that wonderful day sooner than needed.

The hours seemed to have slipped by without them even realising, and by the time they were done, the kitchen was painted completely and they’d made a brave start on the living room before Harry’s mind had begun to wander. Draco found himself with arms creeping around his middle, exceptionally distracting kisses trailing up the side of his neck, and before Harry could even register it, he had a rather large swipe of red paint across his cheek and a more than eager blonde pressing lips against his own, backing him up into a cloth-covered armchair.

Exhaustion tugged at them from all angles.

Tucked beneath the sheets with a slither of moonlight creeping through the curtains, it was as though they were suspended between two worlds. Draco could hardly find it in himself to talk but he could feel every subtle shift of Harry’s hands running across the skin of his back. In a strange way, they didn’t want to sleep, wanted to simply exist in that quiet, comfortable moment with nothing but blissful thoughts buzzing around in their heads.

It felt like a lifetime before Harry’s breaths grew slow and deep and rhythmic, and only then did Draco find himself following suit. They dreamt of nothing in particular. No endless dark corridors. No open, sun-soaked fields. Nothing of the past, or the future, or even the present wandered through their subconscious at all. It was a peaceful sleep.

Though it may not always be that way, there was a comfort to be had in knowing they could wake and find that even nightmares faded, that waking up was not a cruel thing – but very much a blessing.


	31. Epilogue

There were few things, to Harry at least, that felt as soothing as stirring from sleep just as the sun was beginning to peek in through the bedroom window.

Draco was usually the first of them to wake, a routine he never seemed able to drop as time went by. Even when he’d booked time off from the ward to line up with the summer holidays, Harry could guarantee that most mornings Draco would be up, his side pressed against Harry’s, lazily leafing through a book until the other woke up. Or, sometimes, Draco would simply be happy enough to lounge in the quiet of the cottage, tucked into Harry’s embrace, fingers running lazy patterns through the other’s hair, a smile creeping onto his features as Harry finally stirred.

Harry didn’t mind that at all, not one bit, but there was a novelty in waking up to find Draco still fast on, clinging on to him tightly even in the midst of sleep, silver hair splayed out like a halo before him. Harry readjusted his grip slowly, not wanting to disturb the other man, arm moving to settle more firmly around Draco’s waist. There was a tired mumble before Draco’s head tucked itself underneath Harry’s chin, and he drifted back off again.

It was nothing shy of a blessing that they wouldn’t have anything pressing to do until late that afternoon. Harry had grown to love mornings. The mundane, easy-going calm of waking up with Draco, pottering around the house with mussed-up hair and lazy smiles until sleep ebbed away. They could stay in bed, if they wanted, or soak up some of the bright, summer heat in the garden, doing nothing particular at all.

“Morning,” Draco’s small voice muttered, and Harry felt the vibrations of it across his skin more than really hearing it. He pulled back a little to press a kiss against Draco’s forehead, muttering the same greeting, before he stretched and pulled Draco into a tighter hold.

“Sleep alright?” Harry asked, chuckling as Draco yawned, the expression on the blonde’s face alone showing that his thoughts were coming slow and listless.

“Mmm, and you?”

Harry nuzzled into the side of Draco’s neck. “I could stay in bed all day,” He admitted.

Draco smirked. “Yes, and I bet you would if I didn’t have anything to say about it.”

“Well, we _are_ on break,” Harry said, letting his voice trail off.

“And I intend to make the most of it,” Draco retorted, amusement creeping across his feature’s as Harry’s hands slid, not too slyly, down to the bottom of his back.

“We could make the most of it and still be in bed,” Harry grinned.

Draco couldn’t help but laugh, hand moving up to trail lightly across Harry’s jawline, inching forward to kiss the other man – but just out of reach. “You’re impossible.”

“You can at least admit I make a very convincing point.”

Draco mulled over the question for a moment, taking his time, before finally giving in and urging the other forward into a kiss. It was slow and languid, hands trailing warm and gentle paths down the other’s body, breaking apart only to speak in hushed tones as though they might break that odd, soothing spell that fell over the house just before the sun reached its peak.

But that was okay.

They had more than enough time.

~-*-~

“I might start taking pictures of this, you know?” Draco said, cup of tea in one hand while he flicked through a newspaper with the other.

He didn’t know why he still insisted on reading them, it was always utter nonsense – even if he had been slightly amused when he finally came back to the wizarding world long enough to realise Harry and himself had been utterly plastered on the front pages for weeks without ever noticing. Funny how priorities changed.

His favourites from the past year so far had been endless speculations over Harry’s change of career, assuming it must have been through some terrible scandal, which wasn’t far off. What was most surprising was how few details they’d actually managed to dig up – Draco could respect how tight Kingsley had kept a handle on that whole ordeal.

A close contender had been the rather weak-willed assumption that Draco had entered the medical field for nefarious reasons, though Hermione herself had made sure that particular article was a one-off. Harry’s favourite, hands down, was a particularly small column detailing how Draco had clearly brainwashed Harry to earn the public's favour.

Since then, the articles had all but trickled away – and the pair would be daft to assume Hermione hadn’t been a part of why, though she never detailed what had transpired exactly.

“Taking pictures of what?” Harry asked, shaking off his hands from the sink and drying them on a rather gaudy looking tea towel, one of Molly’s many housewarming gifts. He turned, leaning his back against the counter, watching as Draco finally grew bored of the paper and folded it up.

“You making breakfast _and_ washing up, I’ll need evidence if someone ever enquires-“ Draco’s response was cut off as said multicoloured tea towel hit him squarely in the face, he grimaced and wiped the water from his cheek. “How _mature_ ,” He grumbled, though if there was heat to it, Harry couldn’t sense it.

“You better watch it, or I might not be so kind next time and leave you to it.”

“I think I _deserved_ it after this morning,” Draco said, with such a sickly sweet and innocent smile that Harry couldn’t help but stare, before a blush began rising to his face. He ran a hand across his eyes and huffed out a laugh.

“And you think _I’m_ impossible.”

Draco’s only response was to hide a smirk behind his mug of tea, not so much as a fraction surprised when Harry wandered over soon after, tipping his chin up so he could kiss the living daylights out of the man.

It never did wipe the smug grin off Draco’s face, though.

~-*-~

Draco could _feel_ Harry’s eyes on him - but didn’t say a word.

It was a common occurrence, though he wasn’t entirely sure why, not really convinced it needed to be something addressed. Whenever Draco decided to tidy up the cottage or rearrange – which was far too often as far as Harry was concerned, he was sick of catching his shins on reshuffled furniture – Harry would hover in the low doorways as though tracking his progress. If not, his eyes simply would not stop flickering towards Draco from wherever he was sat.

It was an odd habit.

For a long time, Harry didn’t know why he did it either, and worried it could be frightfully annoying. There was something oddly nostalgic about witnessing Draco going through such routine motions, but refreshingly _different_ in equal measure. Soon enough, it clicked where the resemblance came from, and ever since Harry couldn’t ignore it even more.

It reminded Harry of how Draco had been at Grimmauld Place, and even his old flat – for a long time. The blonde must have spent countless hours cleaning and taking down trinkets and books at the old house, only to put them back in a slightly different manner, as though that fraction of a change made all the difference. It was Draco’s strange method of therapy, concentrating on something banal to pull away from the knots his head could wind up into.

He was forever replacing cushions with different patterns, seemed adamant on collecting enough bed sets to service a hotel year-round, itching to find pictures to put on the walls. Even the cleaning was done by hand, something Harry was certain Draco would be opposed to or wouldn’t have even had the mind to consider. It was a therapeutic little quirk, and one Draco took upon himself without asking for or wanting help.

Except now, it was entirely more relaxed. There wasn’t a fraction of nervous energy to be found with the whole ritual. Draco’s hands didn’t shake from bottled up emotions, putting his effort into working on the house rather than addressing them, and he certainly didn’t tense when he looked up to find Harry’s head cocked in his direction, a shy smile creeping onto his face.

“Want to give me a hand before we have company?” Draco asked, quietly, as though sensing Harry was stuck in some deep, winding thoughts - half of him wanting to pull Harry out of the daze, half of him wondering whether to just let him be.

Though neither were entirely sure what was going on inside their partner’s head, both could agree that there was something substantial about sharing that domestic burden – as small as it may seem.

Harry pushed himself up from the armchair he’d been sat in – and gave Draco a warm smile.

~-*-~

Hermione had known in her gut that Harry would make a brilliant Godfather and, really, she’d known it about Draco, too, right down in the deepest parts of herself.

What she had never really expected was just how _natural_ Draco was with children. There had been a tentative air when Rose had first been born, as though Draco still thought he had no right to get involved, or that he might somehow hurt her. During visits to the Burrow, Draco had somewhat sadly stepped back, letting the other Weasley’s smother the girl in affection. It had been Ron who’d noticed that longing sort of gaze first, whisking Rose out of her Grandmother’s grasp so Draco could get chance to hold her.

Since then, Draco would have happily fought anyone off just to spend a few more minutes fussing her. She’d looked so small and frail in those first few weeks, but as months and months crept by and Rose began to grow, Hermione was beginning to have a task at hand just prying the pair apart – and heaven forbid she ever try to persuade Draco not to buy something new for her. It was enough to make anyone feel guilty with how much he insisted on spending on the girl, even if she grew out of most things in mere weeks.

And, secretly, Hermione was worried that Harry’s heart might not be able to take the sight of Draco resting a baby on his hip for much longer – every time they visited Fern Cottage, the adoring look on Harry’s face seemed to grow with intensity tenfold. It would be utterly sickening if it wasn’t over such a sweet thing.

“She’s getting _heavy_ ,” Draco groaned, rearranging Rose so he had both arms wrapped around her, bouncing the girl gently on his hip. She looked up at him with wide eyes, as though she’d understood exactly what he’d said, before a small smile blossomed onto her face and she garbled out a giggle. “Still cute, though,” Draco added with a laugh, blowing a stray piece of hair from his face.

“Not so cute when she’s screaming the house down at three in the morning,” Ron yawned, but there was still something fond gleaming in his eye.

“Oh, she’s not that bad…we’ve been really lucky with how well she settles down,” Hermione added.

“Easy for you to say when I let you stay in bed,” Ron replied, and Hermione rolled her eyes, even if that much was true. It was hard to believe there was a time Ron had been worried about becoming a father, he was every bit as attentive to their child as Molly had been with her own children.

The conversation was stopped in its tracks as Harry laughed out of the blue, nearly choking on his drink, his eyes pinned on Draco and Rose. When Hermione and Ron’s gaze followed – their own peals of laughter quickly followed suit. Draco looked around, confused for a moment, before a few strands of his steadily growing hair fell in front of his eyes a second time.

He didn’t quite remember his hair being pastel _pink_.

Draco’s eyebrows furrowed and he slowly looked back to the baby in his arms. Her chubby face was blushed pink, eyes concentrating almost comically on the man holding her, and the longer she stared the more Draco’s hair burst into colour, turning from a faded, dusty pink to something that was becoming frighteningly magenta.

“Don’t say a word,” Draco warned, but Harry would be mad if he ever listened to that gem after all this time.

“Suits you, love,” Harry grinned, and Rose giggled, wriggling excitedly in Draco’s arms, as though very much agreeing. “I hope it’s permanent.”

By the time Hermione and Ron’s afternoon visit had concluded, Draco’s hair had been through several drastic changes, and though Draco’s face had flushed in embarrassment as his hair went from pink, to sky blue, to a positively _horrendous_ shade of purple – all he could really do was coo and praise the little girl in his arms, noting how it appeared she’d turn out just as bright as her mother.

As expected, Hermione had to all but wrench the girl out of his arms so Harry could give her a cuddle before they left – and both her face and Ron’s had been filled with joy all the while, even when Rose decided that a tantrum was required at the concept of leaving.

Rose left Draco’s hair a rather stunning shade of green as her way of saying goodbye.

~-*-~

It had been a long time since Draco had dreamt.

There had been nightmares now and again, something that would never entirely go away for neither him nor Harry – but they felt far away to him. So distant and so infrequent that it was hard to let them worry him anymore. Dreams, now, were a blur. A wash of warm colours and obscure shapes, sometimes coalescing into something nearly tangible – and then he woke, utterly clueless to what the dream had been apart from it had been content. He was fine with letting them go. Didn’t cling onto them like he might have once done, simply woke into a warm embrace, never to recall a single detail of the vision.

Draco stirred from one of those faraway dreams late that afternoon. The sun was beginning to dip closer towards the fields surrounding Fern Cottage, colouring the sky in warm pink and orange streaks. As his senses gradually sharpened, he heard bees buzzing gently around him, felt fingers brushing the hair out of his eyes, the grass beneath him blissfully cool. With a yawn, he shuffled, not ready to open his eyes, and remembered then that his head was settled in Harry’s lap.

The wildflowers in the garden had become even more unruly over the months, and Draco could smell their pollen on the summer breeze rather than see their colourful forms, though it wasn’t overwhelming. Strangely, it reminded him of something, though he couldn’t for the life of him think of what it was. All that he could focus on was how warm the sunlight was on his skin and how relaxing the feel of Harry’s hand brushing through his hair was.

“And you say I sleep too much,” Harry chuckled, gazing down at the mop of silver hair in his lap, the shocking green from earlier now faded.

Draco made a humming noise at the back of his throat and shifted to peer up at Harry, bringing a hand up to rub at his eyes. “I’m clearly just getting old.”

Harry scoffed, removing his hand from Draco’s hair and resting it on the other’s chest. Draco’s own hand soon came up to hold it, idly playing with the matching silver band settled on Harry’s finger for a moment, as though making sure it was still there. “Will I need to carry you back inside? It’ll be dark, soon.”

“That would be lovely,” Draco smirked.

Harry’s voice took on a playful, warning tone. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I could be like your _blushing_ _bride_ ,” Draco teased, unknowingly pushing his luck. He only just caught sight of Harry’s nonchalant shrug before the man was leaning over, arms reaching under him and Draco all but screeched when Harry actually managed to get some leverage.

“You asked!”

“I was _kidding_ ,” Draco said, lurching to one side until Harry finally let go, only to end up on his back with Harry’s legs bracketing him on either side, wicked green eyes peering down at him. Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t stop a smile peeking out. “And here was me thinking I could have a relaxing evening for once and not get _manhandled_.”

“That’s not what you signed up for,” Harry stated, leaning forward to pepper a line of kisses up the other's neck, retreating all too soon for Draco’s liking.

“I suppose I didn’t, did I?” Draco admitted, watching as Harry stood up and offered him a hand. He took it, stumbling to his feet, not at all opposed to the arm that wound itself around his waist as they took a steady walk back to their home.

~-*-~

No more than a handful of years ago, if someone would have so much as suggested to Harry Potter that he might one day fall in love with Draco Malfoy – he would have probably laughed. Had someone would have dared relay that information to Draco, the idea would have been so foreign and utterly ridiculous to him that he very well may have hexed that person into next week.

And yet – somehow - it was true.

Harry could hardly remember a time where he thought peace was a hopeless idea. He could hardly remember those sleepless nights and exhausting days, where it felt as though there was no way of making a change in the world that had given him so much and taken so much in equal measure. Now, not a day passed by where he didn’t know in his heart that he was making a difference.

In the same breath, Draco still often forgot how far he’d really come, how much light and meaning had been brought into his life from the simple act of swallowing down his own pride and challenging his inner demons. Most of all, though, he would never quite realise just what he’d achieved by one simple thing - _letting_ himself be happy.

Their journeys had never been the same, and somehow it didn’t even matter. With every day that passed by they could both feel – in those strange and obscure ways - how far they’d come and how strongly those separate paths had intertwined.

They settled into bed that night, closing the door on one of many days to come, whispering their affection and settling into each other’s arms - feeling beyond anything else that they were home. Only one tangible thought drifted through their minds as sleep came to greet them.

Their love had made all the difference.

~-*-~

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> I started this little project just to try and occupy myself during the mess that was 2020, and I'm so glad others found some enjoyment with it as well!
> 
> I did plan to stick around and work on some other projects/try and get more active on Tumblr. And though I have written another fic related to this universe (Missing Piece), and started another, unrelated angst fic (Stripped to the Bone, will be deleting, sorry!) - I think this will be it from me. I will be orphaning What Difference Would It Make and Missing Piece very shortly and deleting any accounts associated with this username.
> 
> I'm very much the type of person that likes to finish experiences/hobbies on a high point - however silly that sounds! - and wrap things up neatly, so rather than trundle along trying to one-up this piece of work, I'll be putting it to bed on a happy note.
> 
> Thank you again for reading. I hope for some of you this made 2020 a little bit more bearable - it certainly helped me!
> 
> Stay safe and look after yourselves. Much love!


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